


Things with teeth and claws

by BearlyWriting



Series: SladeRobin Weekend 2020 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alpha Jason Todd, Alpha Slade Wilson, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Blood and Injury, Day 3: Omegaverse, Dissociation, Hurt Jason Todd, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Omega Dick Grayson, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Rape Aftermath, SladeRobin Weekend Mini-Event 2020, Submission, Vomiting, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyWriting/pseuds/BearlyWriting
Summary: "When Slade rolls back to his feet and glances back at the bed he comes face-to-face with Jason Todd, crouched protectively over Dick, face red with anger. There’s the sudden stink of furious, protective alpha so strong that it makes Slade shudder. Rockets his heart against his chest, and not in the way it should. Because itdefinitelyshouldn’t be shooting heat straight to his dick."For the SladeRobin Weekend prompt Omegaverse.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, Very brief Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: SladeRobin Weekend 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716973
Comments: 130
Kudos: 558
Collections: Jason Todd Rare Pair Challenge, SladeRobin Weekend 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings! This fic contains a violent rape scene from the rapists POV. If that's going to bother you in any way please don't read this fic!
> 
> If I've missed any tags, please let me know! I'm happy to add any :)

Honestly, Slade isn’t expecting Dick to be home. The kid hasn’t been out on patrol in days, which means he’s either injured or in heat. And it’s not like Slade tracks Grayson’s cycle or anything creepy like that, but it _has_ been a while since he’s been M.I.A. and Slade hasn’t seen him take any big hits. Which means that Dick is _supposed_ to be in Gotham. At the manor, or wherever the Bats hang out when they aren’t annoying Deathstroke. Slade was meant to be in and out of the safe house that Dick doesn’t know that he knows about without any trouble. Collect the shit he needs because Grayson has been sticking his nose into Slade’s business _again_ and leave.

Except, the scent hits Slade as soon as he slides the window open. Sweet with a hint of spice, warm at the back of his throat like a good scotch. When he drops lightly into the room it hits him full-force and he has to pause, crouched against the floorboards, to let it roll over him. An omega in heat. For a moment he considers leaving the way he came. Obviously Dick isn’t at the manor like he’s supposed to be and Slade won’t be able to get his intel without a fight. Not to mention that, even with his screwy instincts, an unrelated omega in heat isn’t exactly comfortable to be around - and Slade can’t even fuck the weird rapid-fire sparking of dormant instincts away.

Well, he could. But as much as he enjoys the flirty, not-quite sexual tension he and Grayson share, he doesn't want to. Not with Grayson. Not with any omega. They just aren’t really his thing. Which makes the fact that, at some level, the sweet, heavy scent of an omega in heat is still affecting him - even if it isn’t exactly the way it’s supposed to - extremely frustrating.

Still, it’s _Grayson_ , and Slade has never passed up the opportunity to fuck with him before. And he _does_ need that intel. So he straightens up and takes stock of the room.

Dick is sitting upright on the bed set against the far wall, legs crossed loosely underneath him, eyes wide as they focus on Slade. The scent of his heat is heavy in the air, pressing thickly against Slade’s skin, but the only evidence of it on Dick is a faint, attractive flush high on his cheeks and the hollow of his throat, a thin sheen of sweat, and pupils that are blown a little larger than usual. A far cry from the mindless, desperate sex toy that sexists and hallmark movies like to make in-heat omegas out to be. Dick could probably still put up a decent fight, even. Maybe Slade will test that out.

By the time Slade has made it across the room, Dick is already on his feet, reacting quicker than any normal person would be able to, heat or no heat. Quick enough that when Slade barrels into him, knocking him back against the wall with a solid shoulder to his chest, Dick manages to get his arm up fast enough to block Slade’s grab for his throat. Quick enough that, despite the harsh exhale of breath as his back hits brick, he isn’t stunned by the blow.

There’s a rush of omega heat smell as Slade presses close, and he knows that Dick must get an answering swell of _alpha_ on his sharp inhale. Yes. There’s a metallic tang of fear that Slade isn’t used to associating with the kid. Not that Slade is really used to associating any scent with Dick - usually he’s covered in enough scent blockers to obliterate any trace of omega on him. Usually, Slade likes that - it’s easy enough to imagine Dick as an alpha when there’s no scent to prove him wrong.

There’s definitely something alpha about the snarl that rips out from between Dick’s teeth. Even Slade’s screwy instincts can’t help but flare at the challenge. He flashes teeth, growling lower than Dick could ever hope to reach. Despite the thread of fear in his scent, Dick doesn’t bare his throat in classic omega submission, just peels his lips back in another snarl, ducking his chin against his own wrist where he’s still warding off Slade’s grip.

Then, in a move that probably only Dick, and his almost supernatural flexibility, could achieve, he twists out of Slade’s grip and throws himself over the bed, rolling gracefully until he’s crouching on the other side, out of Slade’s reach.

“Slade.” His voice is surprisingly calm, no trace of that bitter tang of fear, or the stronger, heavier press of heat. “What are you doing here?”

Slade smirks. Lets his eyes trail over the curve of Dick’s bare shoulder where his sleep shirt has slipped down his arm. Dick glares, but doesn’t bother covering the skin there. “Just wanted to drop by.” He drops his eyes to the bed. Takes a deep, performative breath until he can almost taste Dick. It doesn’t particularly do anything for him, but he enjoys the way the vigilante stiffens, eyes narrowing. “But I can see you’re tied up.”

That sends suspicious confusion skittering across Dick’s face. The corner of his lip twitches again in the start of a snarl. “Get out of-“

Slade lunges before Dick can get the rest of the sentence out. It’s a long lunge and Dick makes a startled sound, clearly not expecting Slade to clear the space so quickly. One hand closes around the soft cloth of Dick’s shirt, even as the omega jerks back, yanking him forward and Dick crashes against the edge of the bed with a grunt. His hand comes up, pressing at Slade’s wrist in a move that might have broken his grip if he wasn’t wearing his gauntlet. At the same time, Slade brings his free hand round to cup the back of Dick’s neck and squeeze.

It doesn’t drop Dick the way it would most omegas. There’s a hard shudder as he fights against his instincts, but he doesn’t go limp. Of course he doesn’t. Being half-paralysed whenever an enemy gets a good grip on his neck is a weakness the Bat would never allow.

Still, it gives Slade the opportunity to twist his wrist out of Dick’s grip and catch the omega’s own instead. Gives him the opportunity to heave him onto the bed. Dick recovers his wits before Slade can properly pin him, but he manages to press him back into the pillows, even as Dick twists beneath him. One of Dick’s feet comes up to plant itself against his chest and _kick_ , but Slade throws his weight over him, trapping his leg back against the bed. Dick bucks, a little desperately, and Slade rolls his hips down, because he can, even though the weight of his armour means he can’t feel Dick against him.

A sharp sound - not quite a whine but not quite a snarl either - bursts out of Dick’s throat. It’s accompanied by a plume of scent: bitter anger, the sour milk stink of fear, and beneath that, the sweet caramel of his heat. Slade grins and pumps his own burst of scent, watching as Dick goes still and stiff, throat working as it washes over him.

Slade takes the opportunity to reach back and free his cuffs from his belt. Snaps one end of them roughly over the wrist he still has clenched in his hand. Dick jerks.

“Slade-“

It chokes off when Slade closes his free hand around Dick’s throat. Forces his chin up and drags him higher up the bed so that he can thread the chain of the cuffs through the headboard. Dick thrashes and Slade tightens his fingers hard enough to cut off any air. Settles more heavily across Dick’s thighs. Feels the flex of his throat as he swallows thickly against the press of his palm.

It’s easier than Slade expects to close the other end of the cuffs over Dick’s free wrist. All it takes is one savage blow to his face to have Dick going limp under him and then the omega is bound tightly to the headboard, legs trapped beneath Slade’s weight. Perhaps it’s unfair to expect him to have escaped - he is in heat after all, and the heavy musk of Slade’s scent must be wreaking havoc with his head.

“Why are you doing this?” The words are accompanied by a growl that Slade can feel reverberating through his chest. Dick bucks, trying to dislodge Slade’s weight, but the mercenary just shifts more comfortably over him.“You don’t even like omegas. You’re not actually going to-“

Only he doesn’t get to say what Slade’s not going to do. Because the mercenary twists his fingers into Dick’s thick hair, using the grip to yank his head back and expose the long, pale column of his throat. The words cut off as the omega grinds his teeth against the strain. 

“You don’t know shit about what I’m going to do, kid.”

It’s true though. Slade isn’t interested in omegas - that’s one rumour about him that’s actually true - and he isn’t interested in fucking Dick through his heat. But he is interested in the way the omega fights against his cuffs. The way his whole body goes tight as a bow-string as Slade leans in and presses his nose teasingly to the scent gland beneath his jaw, licking a stripe up behind his ear - even if the taste isn’t particularly arousing. He’s interested in the way the muscles of Dick’s stomach tighten as he trails his fingers over smooth skin and edges them beneath the loose waistband of his sweatpants.

When Slade finally dips his hand inside, pressing thick fingers over slick-damp boxers and the soft lump of Dick’s cock, Dick jerks as if he’s been electrocuted and lets out a high, strangled whine that makes the mercenary’s skin prickle. Slade growls low in his throat. Presses the heel of his hand more firmly over Dick. Grazes teeth over the sensitive skin of his neck.

The almost-alpha snarl Dick lets out stirs something warm in Slade’s stomach.

“Slade, don’t-“

The door opens.

Slade still has his head buried in Dick’s neck, but he hears the whoosh as it opens, then a soft thump and a sharp intake of breath. The air shifts and Slade throws himself sideways just in time to avoid the flying kick from the suddenly enraged alpha in the room.

“What the fuck is going on?”

When Slade rolls back to his feet and glances back at the bed he comes face-to-face with Jason Todd, crouched protectively over Dick, face red with anger. There’s the sudden stink of furious, protective alpha so strong that it makes Slade shudder. Rockets his heart against his chest, and not in the way it should. Because it _definitely_ shouldn’t be shooting heat straight to his dick.

Well, Slade had made peace with his instincts a long time ago. And he knows himself well enough to know that where he hadn’t been entirely interested in Dick, he’s definitely interested in his brother.

Because Jason is a classic alpha. All strong, hard lines, no hint of the softness that even Dick can’t quite train out of his body. A warm, musky smell, spicy rather than sweet. Not to mention the plume of scent that Jason’s sending his way: angry, possessive, pack protecting pack. Designed to send most alphas scurrying away with their tails between their legs, or at least force a challenge. Most alphas would find the scent repellent - a horrible comedown after the sweet temptation of Dick’s heat smell - but Slade isn’t most alphas, and this is riling him up in an entirely different way.

“I swear to God Dick, if this is some fucked up joke the two of you are playing...”

Dick makes a strange sound, jerking his arms as if he wants to reach for Jason. “No, Jay - I don’t -“

Slade slams Jason off the bed before Dick can finish his sentence.

Jason puts up a better fight than Dick did. That isn’t usually the case, Slade suspects, because there’s something unrefined about the alpha that’s usually polished in Dick, and there aren’t many people - save himself and the Bat - who really can beat Nightwing. But the omega had been heat-addled during their bout, so Jason has the upper-hand in that particular battle. Not in this one though. Not against Slade.

The alpha isn’t a bad fighter, but he’s wearing civilian clothes rather than armour, so every blow Slade lands hits like a sledgehammer. The kid holds up surprisingly well, considering, but Slade definitely hears a rib crack when he gets a good hit in against his chest after a wild strike leaves it undefended. Gets a low grunt of pain when he catches that toned stomach with a knee. Has the kid stumbling with a well-timed blow to his ear. There are no weapons besides their fists and their training. The kid is clearly taken by surprise and Slade doesn’t see the need to draw his - not when he can win this so easily without any. Jason has some impressive tricks, but that can’t make up for Slade’s armour, his meta abilities, his years of training. And Slade can tell Jason is distracted by Dick, by his own anger and his desire to protect his brother when he’s so vulnerable. It’s cute, and it sends shivery heat down Slade’s spine every time Jason gets himself between Slade and the bed. It’s a delightfully alpha thing to do.

Eventually though, Slade gets bored of toying with him. A savage blow to his jaw and a sweep of Slade’s leg sends Jason to the floor. Then Slade is on top of him, gripping one of his wrists and forcing the arm into a painful pin behind his back. Pressing his knee into the soft calf muscle of his leg, sweeping his other knee into the inside of Jason’s thigh and forcing it wide. Gripping a handful of that curly hair with his free hand.

Jason lets out a truly impressive growl, almost as low as Slade’s, and pulls against his hold. It’s a beautiful show. The rumble of it vibrates all the way through Slade’s chest where he’s blanketed over the alpha’s back, even through his armour. Curls liquid heat in Slade’s gut. Maybe other alpha’s would be intimidated, but Slade just presses closer and lets out the moan that’s been building in his throat in response. Beneath him, Jason goes stiff. On the bed, Dick offers his own growl - impressive in its own way, for an omega.

“What the fuck are you doing Slade? Get the hell off of me and then fuck off out of here.”

Slade just hums, using his grip to tilt Jason’s head back until the expanse of his neck is bared by the strain. They’re pressed so close that Slade can hear the wet movement of his throat as he swallows.

“Whatever the fuck you want with Dick-“

“I was just going to tease Grayson a little.” Slade presses his nose against the soft join between the younger alpha’s neck and shoulder, keeping his grip firm enough that when Jason snaps his teeth, they aren’t in any danger of actually reaching him. “But then you came along and made everything so much more interesting. You must have heard the rumours after all.” He follows that up with a sharp nip at the alpha’s throat.

That gets him a flurry of desperate movement as Jason bucks against his hold, straining against the grip on his arm, kicking out with the leg that isn’t pinned down, even though it’s pressed too wide to do any damage. Slade just rides the movement. Then he jerks Jason forward with a sharp thrust of his hips, forcing his face against the carpet and holding him there as he licks a delicious stripe up the back of his neck.

Even when he presses teeth to the delicate scent gland beneath Jason’s jaw, there’s no fear in the boy’s scent, just the sharp spice of furious alpha. Up on the bed, Dick is pumping out enough fear for the both of them, tugging against his cuffs hard enough that Slade can taste blood in the air.

That lances more heat straight through Slade and he presses his teeth in deep until rich, coppery blood bursts over his tongue. The alpha underneath him lets out a high, strangled sound, caught between a snarl and a whine, and Slade can feel the hard shudder before Jason falls still, trembling. Even Bruce’s training can’t quite override the instinct to surrender to a victorious bite.

Pleased with the surrender, Slade laps soothingly at the wound, little frissures of pleasure sparking with each cut-off whimper and twitch of pain. Presses his hips hard against the swell of Jason’s ass even though he won’t be able to feel Slade’s growing hardness beneath the weight of his armour. Jason snarls obligingly anyway.

“Slade!” It’s Dick, sounding desperate, a submissive omega whine to his voice that Slade could never have imagined him making if he wasn’t hearing it now. “You’ve had your fun. You don’t need to do this.”

“I don’t need to do anything Dickie,” Slade reminds him. But he pulls back, shifting his grip from Jason’s hair to his neck, so that he can drag him with him, pressing him back against his chest, fingers tight enough against his throat to make Jason’s breath stutter, trapping his arm between his own back and Slade’s armour.

“Are you going to be good for me, kid?”

He suspects that would draw another snarl, but Jason can only choke beneath the insistent press of the mercenary’s fingers. He struggles gamely, knocking his shoulders back with enough force that it must hurt, straining against the hold and the lack of air. Slade doesn’t let up, only mouths sloppily at the skin not covered by his own hand. Finally the young alpha goes limp. Only his jaw moves, working as he struggles to draw in air.

“Good boy,” Slade murmurs as he peels his fingers away, letting Jason slump forward a little, gasping in a desperate lungful of air, no doubt thick with Slade’s own musky arousal. Another delightful shudder wracks through Jason. The hand that Slade had pressed against his throat shifts to his waist. Grips the hem of the t-shirt he’s wearing and drags it up his stomach and over his head before he can protest. When Slade shoves him forward so that he can drag his arms behind him and tie them together with his own shirt, Jason does fight, but by then it’s too late to do much more than writhe uselessly with a growl.

After that, it’s easy to clamp a hand over the back of Jason’s neck and drag him over to the bed. As they approach, Dick watches warily, eyes wide and dark in his face. When Slade heaves Jason up onto the bed, skilfully avoiding a wild kick from the alpha as he does so, Dick curls his own legs up, as if he might kick at him too. But Jason is an effective meat-shield between them and Slade forces the alpha down, trapping Dick’s legs against his chest. A bloom of heat-scent washes over them as Dick’s legs are forced up and the omega makes a tight, protesting sound that’s echoed by Jason as Slade forces his head against his brother’s neck.

“This isn’t funny Slade,” Jason snarls, voice muffled where his face is pressed against Dick. “Stop messing around and let us go.”

“You think I’m messing around?” Slade lets his voice drop dangerously, cool as ice. Maybe his banter with Dick has given the Bats the wrong impression. He’s as dangerous as any other criminal. They shouldn’t forget that. And he’s going to prove it to them.

He takes a moment to rearrange Jason. Uses one hand to grip his hip as he presses his head down with the other. Kicks his legs wide until they’re resting either side of Dick, ignoring the way Jason tries to twist out of his grip. The omega takes the opportunity to slide his own legs back down as the pressure lessens, shooting Slade a hateful glare when the mercenary presses his knees between them too and settles himself between them.

“Don’t do this Slade.” And even as he glares he tilts his chin up, although whether it’s an attempt to comfort Jason or to appease Slade, he can’t tell. “You’re a _mercenary_ not a _rapist_.”

For a moment Slade considers that as he eyes the curve of Dick’s neck. It isn’t entirely true. Sure, Slade doesn’t make a habit out of this sort of thing, but Slade is a man who gets what he wants, when he wants it. And there aren’t many people who can say no to him. This hadn’t been his intention when he had slipped through Dick’s window, but now he’s here, he can’t say he minds the direction this night has taken. He isn’t the sort to deny himself his pleasure for the sake of _morals_.

So he leans forward, crushing Jason between them and driving the breath from both of them, before clamping his teeth against the smooth, unmarred skin of Dick’s neck in a hard bite. It’s not deep enough to be a claim, but it is deep enough to make Dick go still and silent. For Dick to let out a gasp that isn’t entirely pain. For the sudden smell of slick that slides out from underneath them. 

Jason snarls furiously with the little breath he has left, but he doesn’t flash any teeth - not when his mouth is pressed against his brother rather than pointed at Slade. His nose is digging in at the curve of Dick’s jaw, right at the source of that rich heat scent, but there’s no answering swell of arousal from Jason that Slade can detect. Only the first little flash of fear. Maybe his instincts are skewed by the alpha at his back. Or maybe the pack-brother bond is strong despite their lack of blood-relation. Most likely Jason wasn’t here to fuck Dick through his heat then.

It doesn’t particularly matter to Slade. He doesn’t need Jason aroused for this.

“I think you should stop assuming you know anything about me, kid.” As he says it, he clicks open the clasp of his gauntlet with his teeth, so he can feel Jason’s bare skin as he smooths a hand down his back. The young alpha is so tense that he’s trembling. Every muscle clenching as Slade slides his palm over them. When he reaches Jason’s bound arms and slides his hand around, he can feel the muscles of that taut stomach twitch. The soft cotton of Dick’s sleep shirt brushes his knuckles as he presses between them.

There’s a sharp intake of breath. Then Dick lets out a shaky omega croon, reacting to the burst of bitter fear in Jason’s scent. His pupils are blown wide by the bite and the heavy press of Slade’s arousal. 

“Shut the fuck up, Dick,” Jason snaps. Then, when Slade pops open the button of his jeans and drags them, and his boxers, down his thighs: “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Not that there’s much he can do about it. Slade presses his hips down against bare flesh as Jason bucks and gets a delightful shiver in return. He fumbles at his waist, frees his own cock with deft movements. Groans at the sensation of cool air against heated flesh. That gets another hard shudder as the room floods with his smell and the tip presses against the soft crease of Jason’s thigh.

“Don’t,” Jason tries, again. Not so angry now - small, desperate. Slade grins against the back of his neck. Shifts his hips to drag his cock across Jason’s skin. It slides easily enough, slick with pre-cum, blood-hot and throbbing. Slade hasn’t been this hard in a long time and he knows with a distant sort of irritation that part of it is due to the syrupy heat scent he can’t help but inhale this close to Dick.

It doesn’t matter - Dick’s not the one he’s fucking. But he swipes his nose across the scent gland at Dick’s collarbone anyway and feels heat surge through his veins in response. The omega is perfectly still beneath him, still obedient from the bite, but the tight line of his throat suggests that soon won’t be the case.

Not that there’s much he can do anyway.

Slade turns his attention back to Jason, pressing his nose beneath the young alpha’s jaw. He gets a burst of spice and metal for his trouble, and that has his cock twitching where it still rests against Jason’s thigh. He presses his tongue flat against the gland and savours the sharp taste of it, and the little whimper Jason can’t quite keep between his teeth. Teases the soft skin with a prick of teeth.

Jason’s eyes are shut tight, his body one hard line against Dick’s. No point putting this off any longer. Slade’s aching so badly it hurts.

He presses his teeth in until he tastes blood again and Jason softens beneath him. It’s not quite surrender but Slade doesn’t care - he’s wound too tight from Jason’s skin against him, his blood on his tongue, the heavy press of his scent in the room.

Slade pulls himself up a little, settling more easily on his knees. One hand goes to the back of Jason’s neck, holding him firmly against Dick. The other tugs his hips up to meet Slade. For a suspended moment Slade just holds him there, against the hard, hot promise of his cock, and Jason lets him, strangely slack beneath his hands.

That changes when Slade shifts, cock sliding through the cleft of the young alpha’s ass, catching against his rim with a delightful burst of sensation. Jason immediately goes tense.

“No.” It’s a strangled, airless little thing, but no less desperate for it. “No, no, _Slade_ -“

Slade just leans down and nips at Jason’s jaw, pulling a little growl from his chest that has Jason shuddering underneath him. At this angle, Slade can’t really see his face, but he catches Dick’s eyes, wide and dark. There’s a filmy, shiny quality to them - the promise of tears.

“Sl’de,” the omega is almost slurring. The thick arousal in the air and the bite must be affecting him worse than Slade had expected. “Don’t do this. God - don’t. _Please_.”

Slade ignores them both. Presses his cock into the furled muscle of Jason’s entrance and pushes in without any more preamble.

At first there’s resistance. Jason is tight and dry and tense, with no omega slick to ease the way, and Slade, as vain as it sounds to say it himself, is bigger than the average alpha. The only concession Jason is getting are the wet beads of pre-cum welling at the tip of his cock. It’s not enough. But Jason can take it. He’s going to have to take it.

He presses harder and something gives, then Slade is sinking into soft, dry heat, so tight that it hurts - and Slade can’t deny he likes that too.

Jason cries out, sharp and pained. Tries to strangle the sound, clenching his teeth so hard that Slade can hear his jaw creak, but it still hisses from between his lips. Beneath him, Dick sobs, surprisingly loud, even with the sound Jason had made. The fledgling tears burst into life. Slade smells salt as they slide over Dick’s cheeks - salt and blood and fear.

He groans, so low in his throat it’s almost a growl, as he sheathes himself inside Jason. Dick echoes it with another croon, tight and shaky with anger, and he scrubs his cheek against the young alpha’s face, smearing tears across his skin, trying to press his own scent against him. 

Jason’s head jerks, as if he isn’t sure whether to pull away or bury himself closer to the offered comfort. A choked whine slips out. When Slade pulls out, his breath catches in a gasp that mutates into a sound too strangled to be a proper scream as he forces his way back in again.

It’s perfect: the tight, wet heat of Jason sheathed around his cock, blood slicking the way as Slade picks up speed. The horror on Dick’s face as each thrust rocks Jason down against him. The way he alternates between snarling up at Slade and pressing desperate, kittenish licks and kisses to any part of Jason he can reach. The way Jason has gone still and silent underneath Slade, biting his lip against any more of those wounded noises so hard that Slade can smell another bloom of blood.

Maybe it’s the scent of heat in the air. Or the blood. Or the metallic smell of both their fear. But Slade feels wild, almost out of control, as if he might slip into a rut at any moment. It lends an almost frantic strength to his thrusts. Every sharp snap of his hips drives the breath from the two bodies underneath him. The whole bed shakes, shunting across the floor with the power of his movements. The primal, animalistic part of Slade is crowing at such an obvious show of strength. Purring at the thought of the two warm bodies under him, totally under his control, utterly dominated.

“Fuck,” he manages. Shifts his grip at Jason’s neck to press his thumb hard into the swollen scent gland behind the kid’s ear. Jason groans at the pressure, although it’s difficult to tell whether the sound is pleasure or pain. “God, you’re tight. So fucking good for me.”

Jason makes a small, protesting sound but it’s drowned out by the snarl that tears free from Dick’s throat. The worst of the bite must have passed now. Slade doesn’t mind, he gets a little thrill from the pure hatred burning in Dick’s blue eyes.

“Fuck you,” Dick snarls, low and throaty and wet with tears. “I’m going to fucking kill you Slade.”

Slade just smirks. “No you aren’t, sweetheart. You’re going to lie there and look pretty and know that this is all your fault. If it weren’t for your heat, you wouldn’t be in this situation and you know it.”

The glare that Dick fixes on him has electricity shooting straight to Slade’s cock. He can’t help a fluttering little moan, curling over Jason’s broad back as heat pools in his gut. The sudden rush of pleasure takes him a little by surprise. Normally it takes far longer to get to this point - the promise of his orgasm warm under his skin. He can feel his knot start to swell at the base of his cock, stretching Jason further with every thrust.

Jason must feel it too. He gasps, trembles, lets out a frightened little whimper that Slade has only heard from alphas who know they’re about to die before.

“No,” he gasps. The word is small and weak. Broken. But Jason struggles with renewed energy. Slade just holds him more firmly, pressing his thumb so hard into his gland that anyone else would likely be paralysed. “No, Slade - God - don’t - I can’t. I _can’t_.”

“Yes you can,” Slade snarls. “You can take it. You can take my knot.”

Normally, Slade wouldn’t knot an alpha. Even alphas who come to his bed willingly can become violent if their instincts flare and it’s never a good idea to be tied and vulnerable. And Slade doesn’t actually have much experience with alphas who don’t want to be on his knot, but tying himself to someone who actively wants to kill him can never be a good idea.

Except...the scent of Dick’s heat is affecting Slade. The overwhelming smell of slick and fear that Dick’s been pumping out from the beginning is calling to something primal that Slade usually barely registers as existing. Telling him to knot and breed and _claim_. Slade doesn’t think he could stop this knot if he tried.

“Knot?” Dick, small and strangled and desperate. “No, Slade. He’s an alpha. Please, he’s an alpha, you’ll kill him. You can’t…”

Slade snaps his teeth, pulling a growl that sounds demonic even to him. “I can.”

It’s getting more difficult to pull out with every thrust as Slade’s knot swells. Jason’s body is a vice around him, so tight that it does feel as if Slade will tear him in two at any second. He’s fighting in genuine panic now, thrashing against Slade’s grip, whimpering on every breath. Dick seems just as frantic, snarling like a dog, angry tears still streaming down his cheeks.

“Take it,” Slade growls. He drags his thumb down to press over the ragged bite wound that’s left of the scent gland beneath Jason’s jaw instead. Trying to get him to relax just enough to let Slade in. It doesn’t matter to Slade if he tears apart, but the kid is so tight that Slade isn’t sure if he’ll even get _in_. “Take it, you-“

Dick lunges, pulling hard against his cuffs with a metallic bang. Pain spears through Slade’s hand as sharp teeth close around the thumb against Jason’s neck and _tear_.

Slade roars. Lets go of Jason’s hip to close his free hand around Dick’s throat and slam him back into the bed. There’s blood on Dick’s teeth as he bares them in fury, choking on nothing as Slade’s grip tightens hard enough to cut off his air. Jason jerks, trying to use the distraction to pull away from Slade, but the pain isn’t enough to stop him twisting his fingers into Jason’s thick curls and yanking his head up. From this angle, Jason must be able to see Dick’s face and Dick his in turn. It gives Slade a little thrill to imagine the pain and horror the omega must see there.

The pain and the thrill are enough to send Slade over the edge. He slams into Jason one final time, grinding himself so deep that he imagines Jason can feel the bulge of his cock in his stomach. Groaning low and guttural in his throat. The urge to bite is like a siren’s call and Slade does nothing to resist it. Clamps his jaws over the already ragged skin of Jason’s neck, deep enough to know that this will scar. That _his_ mark will be on Jason for the rest of his life.

Something tears, hot blood rushing over Slade’s cock in a sick imitation of an omega’s slick. Jason screams a piercing, jagged sound of agony that has Slade’s cock throbbing as his knot locks in place and the first gush of come spurts deep into the younger alpha. 

Slade stays like that for a long time, holding Jason tight against him with one hand, keeping Dick pinned to the bed with the other. He doesn’t unlock his jaws until he’s sure that Dick is in danger of passing out if he doesn’t get air soon, savouring the thick blood on his tongue, the way Jason has gone utterly boneless despite the pain. Then he pulls back a little, freeing Jason’s flesh from the mercy of his bite, relinquishing his grip on Dick’s neck to a loose hold rather than a choke.

Dick gasps, dragging in a wet, ragged breath before letting it out in a sob. Slade lets his fingers rub idly over Dick’s glands, swollen and sensitive from his heat. The omega twitches under the attention, letting out another shaky sob before Slade slides his hand up to Dick’s curls, pushing them away from his sweat-soaked forehead.

“See,” Slade murmurs, his voice almost a purr. The throb of his orgasm sends languid waves of pleasure through his body with every spurt of his seed into Jason and it makes him a little indulgent. “You can be good. Can’t you sweetheart?”

Dick turns his face away from Slade’s hand, his expression tense. He tries to press himself against the bleeding wound of Jason’s neck, but Slade uses his grip on Dick’s hair to drag him back, holding him still whilst Slade presses their mouths together in a hard kiss. Dick could bite, but he won’t. Not whilst Slade is tied to his brother. Not knowing the damage he could do.

The kiss is salty with the tears streaming across Dick’s face. Wet and sloppy. Dick lies perfectly still underneath him, not resisting but not returning the kiss. That’s fine by Slade. He’s had his fun anyway.

Still, when they break apart, Slade uses his grip to turn Jason’s head towards him too. For a moment, he isn’t actually sure if the kid is conscious. His face is slack and so pale it’s almost white. But his eyelids flutter and when Slade licks into his mouth, he lets out a whimper that Slade might expect from a kicked dog.

“There,” Slade murmurs. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You took me like a good little whore, didn’t you?”

Jason doesn’t reply. Most likely, he’s disappeared into that pretty little head of his, overwhelmed by the pain and the shock of everything. Slade doesn’t care about that particularly, either. Like he said, he’s had his fun.

Dick does react, letting loose a weak little growl. Slade just pets through his curls. He doesn’t stop him when Dick turns his head away from Slade’s heavy gaze again. This time, the omega noses up under his brother’s jaw without Slade’s interference.

“It’s OK Jason,” he murmurs, as if he expects Slade not to hear. He presses a soft kiss to the curve of Jason’s jaw, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. “It’ll be OK. He’ll be gone soon. We’ll be just fine.”

When Jason doesn’t react to Dick either, the omega lets out a distressed whine. Slade chuckles. Feels Dick stiffen at the sound.

“That’s sweet kid.” Another wave of orgasm swells and crashes and Slade gives a contented moan. That’s the last one though, Slade thinks. He can feel his knot starting to soften. Dick’s face tenses with disgust. Funny, Slade hadn’t thought it was possible for the kid to look more constipated.

“Well that was fun.”

He gives Dick’s curls one last friendly stroke. Rubs his cheek over Jason’s in a final scenting, enjoying the idea of leaving his mark on the kid, before he pulls away. His knot is still big enough to resist as Slade tugs it free and it hurts a little, but Slade is done with this now. He’s never been one to soak in the afterglow. It must hurt Jason too, because he twitches and whimpers and Dick croons in a shaky attempt to soothe him.

“I’ll take what I came for,” Slade says, casually, as he tucks himself back into his armour. There’s blood still streaked across his cock, but Slade’s never minded getting his armour a little bloody.

Dick glares as Slade saunters across the room, sliding open one of the desk drawers and retrieving the little flash drive taped up underneath it with nimble fingers. Bats - so predictable.

“I’ll be taking this. Enjoy the rest of your heat, Grayson.”

Dick’s voice is small and shaky when he asks: “Aren’t you going to untie us?”

“You’re Bats aren’t you?” Slade asks, one leg already out of the window. The fresh air outside is doing wonders to clear his head. He hadn’t realised quite how thick the scent in the room had gotten. “You’ll be fine.”

Dick’s growl follows him out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally got around to writing another chapter of this! As always, please check the tags!
> 
> Also, fair warning, when I get my sister to read my fics she always says there's way too much thinking in them. She hasn't read this one, so...be prepared for more thinking than doing haha

Dick’s throat hurts. The bite Slade had inflicted on him throbs, a sharp, sick pain. It webs across his whole neck, pulsing agony through the bruises the alpha’s fingers had pressed into his flesh. The sensation is only heightened by his heat, every part of him aching and oversensitive, the bite seared into his consciousness like a brand. No matter Dick’s opinion on it, his body can’t help but react to such an overt show of domination by an alpha, old instincts sparking under his skin.

And if Dick hurts, he can’t imagine how Jason is feeling.

The younger alpha hasn’t moved, or given any indication that he’s even conscious, since Slade had left them both lying on the bed. The weight of him is crushing Dick a little, pressing his lungs flat, and it’s making it hard to breathe. So is the heavy press of scent in the air. Jason’s fear and pain is so thick that Dick feels like he’s choking on it. The smell of Slade’s arousal is like a pillow layered over his face.

“Jay,” Dick tries, and _God_ his voice sounds bad, raspy with pain and wet with the tears he can feel still streaking over his cheeks. He turns his head to nuzzle at his brother again. Slade’s scent is thick against his skin where the alpha had scrubbed his cheek against him - and the thought of that, of Slade forcing his scent onto Jason, _claiming him_ on top of every other awful thing, makes Dick feel nauseated with rage. “Jay. Pup, please. _Please_.”

Jason gives no indication that he’s heard him. His face is tucked into Dick’s neck, each ragged breath hot against his skin. Every hitching inhale must be thick with Dick’s own fear and pain and anger and Dick tries to temper his scent a little, knowing that he reeks of heat and distress. It’s not a smell that Jason will find comforting. If he were in his right mind, Dick knows that it would be sending his little brother wild with protective alpha instincts. Right now, it must just be reinforcing his pain.

But as hard as he tries to project calm and comfort, Dick can’t stop leaking sour agony like blood from a wound. It’s impossible to control his scent when he hasn’t even got a handle on the emotions causing it, and Dick is too raw and hurt to even try. All he can do is lick and kiss frantically at the parts of Jason he can reach, the way he would a fussy pup, trying to clean Slade’s scent from Jason’s cheeks, replacing it with Dick’s _pack, older brother, omega_ instead. He drops little kisses over the curve of Jason’s brow, his temple, the spot beneath his ear. Murmurs reassurances against his skin.

“It’s OK, Jay. He’s gone now.” A kiss to Jason’s sweaty curls. “You’re just fine pup. Come on, wake up sweetheart. You’re safe now.”

Jason twitches, whimpers, and Dick thinks that maybe he might have gotten through to him, but the heavy weight of Jason’s body doesn’t shift at all. And, normally, Dick would be relishing the chance to cuddle his little brother. Normally, he would do anything to keep Jason so close, warm and heavy against him, except, this isn’t normal. Having his little brother - his _baby_ brother, barely more than a pup - pressed against him with each sharp thrust of the man above them as he _raped_ Jason, is so far from normal that Dick feels dizzy with it. Just thinking that word has bile surging up the back of Dick’s throat.

He turns his face into Jason’s neck, swallowing against the acid on his tongue. It doesn’t particularly help. The skin there is slick with blood, welling from the awful, ragged wound Slade had inflicted on him, dripping steadily onto Dick’s sleep shirt where Jason is layered over him. There’s no doubt in Dick’s mind that the bite will scar. There’s so much blood that it’s hard to see the actual wound, but Dick knows Slade, he knows the man will have left his mark.

No. He thought he’d known Slade. But the man he’d thought he’d known would never have done this. The alpha Dick had fought and bantered with and, _God_ , flirted with, sometimes, was never a _good_ man. But Dick had never thought him capable of doing something as horrific as this. Even when Slade had shackled Dick to the bed. Even when Slade had _touched_ him, he had trusted him not to take it too far.

But clearly Dick’s been stupid. So, so fucking stupid. Look where that trust has gotten him. Look at what he’s reaped for letting his Goddamn guard down around one of _Gotham’s_ villains.

Or, rather, look what Jason has reaped. Because Dick can’t avoid that. As much as he might be hurting, it isn’t Dick that Slade forced himself on. It’s not Dick who was violated so brutally. It was Jason.

The alpha is still mostly unresponsive above him. It worries Dick more than he’d like to admit. Most likely it’s just shock and pain causing Jason to shut down but it could be something more serious. It could be a head injury, or blood loss, or...Dick has heard of instances where serious damage to a scent gland has caused paralysis. Slade wasn’t gentle, in any sense of the word. The wound on Jason’s neck is extreme by any standard.

The thought sends icy tendrils of fear through Dick’s gut. Whatever the cause, he needs Jason to snap out of it. He needs him to be...not OK, because Dick knows he can’t be, but responsive. _Alive_.

But Dick isn’t sure how to do that. He laps at the blood coating Jason’s neck, for want of anything more helpful to do - a desperate attempt to clean and comfort his packmate. Instinct demands it from him, an ache in his chest telling him to soothe and protect, but it isn’t exactly a pleasant job. It’s slick and coppery on his tongue and, when Dick licks carefully at the torn flesh of Jason’s neck, he tastes Slade in it.

The bile he’d swallowed back earlier, rushes up his throat in an unstoppable wave. All Dick can do is turn his head weakly to the side and vomit over the edge of the bed rather than all over Jason. It hurts, burning his abused throat on the way up, stinging his swollen lips as he chokes up half-digested food and acid. Dick’s lungs burn, cramping for want of air. His eyes sting with more tears and it hurts. It _hurts_. But worse than that, Dick feels a little gush of slick wet the crotch of his boxers, even as the stronger taste of vomit obliterates Slade’s saliva from his tongue.

Dick sobs. Heaves. Writhes under Jason. Gags again at his body’s betrayal even though there’s very little left to bring up. Disgust and self-loathing spear through Dick’s gut like a knife. How can he be aroused by the taste of Slade on his little brother? How can he gain any pleasure with Jason’s blood thick on his tongue - the evidence of everything that’s just happened heavy in the air?

It’s not the first slick that’s come out of Dick tonight, either. Even before Slade, he was wet with his heat, sticky and slippery with it. And then...and then...when Slade had bitten him, when he’d crushed Jason between them and closed teeth around Dick’s neck, he had felt it slide between his legs. Smelt it on the air. Felt the rush of arousal that had accompanied Slade’s dominance of him, even as the alpha had hurt his brother so terribly.

Intellectually, Dick knows that he couldn’t have helped it. It’s instinctive to react to a bite like that. It’s perfectly natural to produce slick in response to an alpha’s arousal - the body’s natural way to protect itself, a holdover from when the world had been considerably less kind to omegas (as if it’s much kinder now - Dick could laugh at that if he didn’t feel like crying instead). Still, Dick can’t suppress the cold horror he feels at his body’s reactions. Dick had gotten _aroused_ whilst Slade had raped his brother right on top of him. His body, in the throes of heat, surrounded by alpha pheromones, had ached for Slade to fill him instead, even as his mind had been repelled by it.

Dick whimpers. Selfishly, he wants Jason to comfort him. He wants his packmate to gather him in his arms and hold him, surround him in his warm alpha sent. He wants Jason to lick the tears off his cheeks. Wants to feel him nuzzle into his hair, marking him as _pack_ , as _safe_. And he wants to do the same for Jason in turn. Wants to snarl and fight and tear apart any threat that comes for Dick’s little brother. It’s protective omega instincts dialed up to eleven and it’s pointless, because Dick can’t do much more than tug helplessly on his cuffs as Jason lies still and silent above him.

“Jason,” Dick calls again. Still no reply.

Something else is setting Dick’s thighs, too. It’s not his own slick, which is mostly contained to his boxers, but Dick doesn’t really want to acknowledge what it probably is. Because that would mean thinking about Slade knotting Jason. It would mean thinking about the terrible, awful noise Jason had made as Slade had forced him to accommodate him, the pain and horror on his brother’s face, the low sounds of pleasure Slade had made in return and the rasp of his heavy breaths in Dick’s ear as he’d come. It would mean worrying about whether the liquid seeping into Dick’s sleep pants is semen or blood or some awful mix of both. It would mean worrying about exactly how injured Jason is. 

Dick hadn’t been able to see Slade - _that_ part of Slade - from his position underneath Jason, but considering Slade’s size… Most knots are roughly the circumference of their owner’s fist. Some can be smaller than that, but some can be bigger. It takes a lot of preparation to allow even an omega to take one comfortably if they aren’t in heat. It’s why most alphas rarely actually pop one unless there are heat pheromones in the air. Just another thing for Dick to feel sick with guilt about. If he hadn’t been in heat, Slade would never have knotted Jason. If Dick hadn’t been in heat, none of this would even have happened.

But it did happen. Dick can’t escape that. Slade had taken Jason without any preparation at all, with only everything he’d already done to Jason to ease the way for his knot. Dick has to swallow convulsively against more nausea at that thought. He needs to get Jason responsive. The alpha needs a hospital, he needs - Dick needs to assess the damage properly, make sure Slade hasn’t brutalised him beyond repair. If Slade has ruptured Jason’s colon, if he’s done enough damage, Jason could bleed out before Dick manages to get free of the handcuffs.

Dick whines again, a high noise of omegan distress that’s designed to have most alphas running to his aid, but Jason barely twitches. So Dick changes tactics, lowering the tenor of his voice to deep, slow chuffs - an omega calling for their packmate, or the sort of noise a sire might make for his pup. It gets just as little response.

“Jay, please,” Dick begs, finally, frantic with the need for Jason to acknowledge him. “Come on puppy. I need you to wake up.”

By now, Dick is seriously starting to worry. If it was just shock, wouldn’t Jason have snapped out of it by now? Even if he’s dissociating, shouldn’t he at least respond to stimuli? Dick tried rearranging them. Shuffling Jason’s head out of the crook of his neck, jiggling his own shoulders to try to get Jason situated so that Dick can access the unmarked side of his throat. Jason’s head lolls limply against Dick’s chest, his face utterly slack, but Dick pushes aside the constriction of fear behind his ribs. That isn’t helpful now.

“Come on Jay. Come on Little Wing.”

Dick scrubs his cheek across what he can of his brother’s neck. He can feel Jason’s pulse throbbing beneath his jaw, the frantic beat of his heart through the thin cotton between their chests. Dick opens his mouth and presses it to the curve of Jason’s jaw, feeling the swell of his scent gland, hot skin under his tongue. Normally Dick wouldn’t do this without Jason’s explicit consent, but he doesn’t see he has much other choice. A pack bite is the only thing he can think of to bring his brother round.

It’s not something that Dick and Jason do often. Each time Dick sees his brother, the urge surges under his skin - the need to cement their bond a low ache in his chest. But Jason only occasionally allows it - and always begrudgingly. He reciprocates it even less. The idea of forcing it on him now makes Dick’s mouth feel dry, but if it’s the difference between his brother bleeding to death on top of him and Jason hating him, well...there’s no doubt in Dick’s mind that Jason will hate him regardless.

So Dick brings his teeth together in a firm nip: hard enough to stimulate the gland but not enough to break the skin. Proper, consensual bites very rarely draw blood. Claiming bites went out of fashion a long time ago, around the same time that omegas started gaining more rights. Bites that deep are only really seen on abuse victims, or traditionalists, or teenagers who don’t know any better. Or, Dick acknowledges with an awful lurch of his stomach, rape victims.

So Dick is as gentle as he can be as he bites at Jason’s neck. For a moment nothing happens. Then Dick feels the rush of their bond cementing - the heat that surges through his chest and throat, the strange double-echo of emotions, of hurt, hurt, _hurt_ , of all of Jason’s fear pouring into Dick and layering over his own. It’s never been as overwhelming as this - as painful as this - and Dick shudders under the sensation, his jaw going slack, gasping against the riptide current of _Jason_ surging against him.

But it works. Above him, Jason goes stiff, what feels like every muscle in his body tensing. Then he lets out a sharp, high cry - a keen - that hurts Dick to hear. It sounds like a wounded animal - like something dying.

“Jason,” Dick gasps as his brother thrashes on top of him. “You’re OK, Jay. Calm down, you’re safe.”

Jason whimpers again but falls still. “Dick?” he asks and his voice is small and wet and ruined.

“Yeah,” Dick murmurs. Tears prick at his eyes again even though they’d only just stopped falling. “Are you back with me, pup?”

“‘M not a pup,” Jason slurs and Dick could weep with relief - _is_ weeping, thick salty tears trickling down his face. “What -” A thick swallow. “Where’s Slade? Is he-?”

“He’s gone,” Dick reassures him, quickly, although the man’s scent is still so thick in the air that he might as well be standing in the room with them. “It’s OK. Can you move, Little Wing? I need help getting out of these cuffs.”

He feels Jason tense, feels the minute twitches of his muscles as the alpha catalogues his injuries and the shirt still tangled around his wrists. It’s nothing that can hold him - unlike the Bat-proof metal cuffs Dick is encased in. The only reason it had been effective was because of the weight of Slade against his back. 

Jason rolls his shoulders, biting back a small grunt of pain as the action presumably tugs on the torn flesh of his throat. An awful flash of guilt spears through Dick at the sound. That bite is all Dick’s fault. Jason’s pain is all Dick’s fault and if he were a better brother - a better person - he would be the one getting them out of this predicament. He would have stopped this from happening in the first place. Instead, all he can do is hang limply from his cuffs as Jason frees his own hands from the t-shirt trapping them together and finally pushes himself off of Dick.

The pressure on Dick’s chest eases immediately, but it doesn’t make breathing any less difficult. Dick’s lungs still feel flat and airless, although he knows that’s psychological rather than anything else. He can’t help looking down his own body as Jason shifts to hands and knees over him. There’s a dark stain spread across Dick’s thighs that’s definitely blood. When Jason starts fumbling with his jeans, still kneeling over Dick, he catches sight of more blood, red and thick, splashed across the pale skin of Jason’s thighs. There’s enough to send a shard of icy fear through Dick’s chest. Jason bleeding out before Dick can help him is still a painful possibility.

Jason must feel the weight of his gaze because he stiffens, his hands moving to clumsily cover himself. “Don’t look,” he growls in a voice scratchy from screaming, as if he hadn’t just been raped right on top of Dick.

Still, Dick isn’t about to deny his little brother any small thing that might ease his suffering, so he deliberately turns his head away, even if he hates not having Jason in his line of sight. Not that he would be able to do anything if something happened - Dick is still uselessly cuffed to the bed and it’s not as if he’d been able to help Jason before, he thinks bitterly, anyway. 

Even without looking at him, Dick can feel Jason trembling. The mattress dips as Jason shifts his weight, then, with a soft grunt, the alpha levers himself off the bed. 

“Jay?” Dick asks, his gaze jumping back up to where his little brother is stumbling towards the door of Dick’s room. He only makes a few shaky steps before one of his legs gives out from under him, sending him to the floor. He catches himself on one knee with a sharp cry of pain that has Dick wincing. 

“Jason,” Dick calls, again, a hint of an omegan whine in his voice. “Can you get me out of these cuffs?” He tugs on them again, as if to remind Jason, rattling the chain against the headboard.

For a long moment, Jason doesn’t move, just crouches on the floor, panting hard enough that Dick can see the rise and fall of his ribs. Then he pushes himself stiffly to his feet, turning to sneer down at the bed. Dick knows he looks pathetic like this, still chained to the headboard, covered in blood and sweat and probably some semen. He watches Jason’s eyes flicker over his neck, his blood-drenched shirt, the stain spread across his thighs. It’s not as though Jason looks any better - with his own neck slick with blood, his clothes in disarray and a wild look in his eyes.

“Can’t get out of them on your own?” Jason grumbles in that wrecked voice.

“Not quickly.”

It’s not as though Dick actually believes Jason would leave him there - even though he knows his brother is probably desperate to get out of here and disappear. No matter what Jason’s opinion on it is, he and Dick are still pack. There’s no way he’d be able to leave a pack omega in such distress, in the middle of his heat. Especially not with the pack-bite Jason is sporting courtesy of said omega and the vicious wound inflicted on his scent gland, that’s no doubt still flooding his body with hormones telling him to submit. If anything, everything about the situation must be telling Jason to help Dick - to comfort and protect him and receive comfort in return.

Still, Jason has always been contrary and right now he’s hurting. Despite everything, for a moment, Dick thinks he might actually just leave him there - disappear into the night and pretend this never happened and leave Dick to deal with all of this alone.

He doesn’t, of course. Instead, Jason fumbles through the drawers beside the bed for something he can use to pick the cuffs, before turning his attention to Dick’s wrists. It takes longer than it should for Jason to get him free. The alpha’s hands are trembling the entire time, hard enough that he almost drops the makeshift picks he’s fashioned more than once. When both of Dick’s hands are finally out of the cuffs, he can’t stop himself from pulling Jason back against him, pressing his own nose up under Jason’s jaw and shakily inhaling. Jason is stiff and trembling in his hold, but he doesn’t pull away.

Someone sobs. Dick thinks it’s him at first, because his eyes are burning and he’s still crying, hot tears trickling over the cheek that isn’t pressed against his brother. But the sound comes from Jason. Dick can feel his broad shoulders shaking in his hold.

“I’m sorry,” Dick manages, thickly. “I’m so, so sorry Jay.”

Jason slumps in his arms and Dick grunts as his weight falls over him. It’s not the same as earlier, as being pressed under Jason and Slade’s combined weight, on his back on the bed with Slade thrusting against them, but it crushes Dick’s chest flat regardless. Suddenly, he can’t stand to be on this bed any longer. He doesn’t want to be on this mattress that’s stained with blood and semen. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to lie on this bed ever again without thinking of what happened. He’ll have to burn it. Otherwise, he doubts the scent of Slade will ever truly come out.

So he wraps his arms around Jason, taking a moment to lick over the tears streaking down his brother’s face before pushing to his feet. Jason goes with him, mostly limp in Dick’s grip. And it hurts a little that Jason is so pliant because Dick knows that any other time his brother would be fighting him. Normally, Jason would be bitching and struggling and telling Dick to fuck off for coddling him. It’s disturbing to see him like this, knowing that shock and pain and the flood of hormones caused by the two bites on his neck have made him so limp. For once, he wishes Jason were fighting him.

“Come on, pup. It’s OK. Let’s get to the nest.”

Dick does have a nest. It’s not really meant to take more than one person. It’s an emergency nest more than anything, something to retreat to only when he really has to. So far, Dick has very rarely needed it, the den of his room is usually enough to soothe his omega instincts. The only time Dick has ever had a heat outside of the manor, had been when he was with the Titans, right after he’d had the full-on falling out with Bruce. The only reason he isn’t at the manor right now is because of some stupid fucking argument he’d had just a few days before it started. Bruce would still have let him stay but Dick was too proud and stupid to take it.

He’s regretting that now. If he’d been at the manor, he’d never have had to ask Jason to come and stay with him for a few days. If he’d been at the manor, he would have had his pack alpha there to protect him like an omega is supposed to. He wouldn’t have needed to beg the only other alpha of the pack to come and keep him company during his heat. When Slade had clambered through the window, both Dick and Jason would have been safe in Gotham, Dick under his pack alpha’s protection, Jason far away from the threat.

Instead, Dick is stuck here, in his shitty Bludhaven apartment, dragging his limp baby brother to the panic nest that Dick has never had an opportunity to use before now. It’s not the best nest Dick has ever created, just a bunch of blankets and pillows, some shirts that Dick had gradually accumulated from the rest of the pack, all jammed into one of the closets that Dick had sacrificed. There’s just enough room for two people to squeeze in together and Dick shoves Jason into it before clambering after him, curling around his little brother’s huge frame.

Jason slots back against him easily enough, pressing his nose against Dick’s throat. It reminds Dick of the first time he’d had a heat in Jason’s presence. The little alpha had spent practically the entire time plastered against Dick, snarling protectively anytime someone else dared to enter the room and Dick had found it so sweet that he hadn’t had the heart to protest the treatment. He knows that part of it is Jason’s experience with omegas in the narrows, where a protective alpha can be the difference between a safe heat and disaster. Even after Jason’s death and resurrection, the alpha has always been funny about Dick’s heat.

It’s probably the only reason Jason had agreed to come and check in on Dick. It’s the reason he’s here. It’s Dick’s fault this happened.

“It’s OK,” Dick murmurs reassuringly, although he has no idea whether Jason actually is reassured - or maybe just annoyed. “Bruce will be here soon. He’ll know what to do.”

“No,” Jason whines, but it’s quiet, weak. “Don’t. Don’t tell Bruce.”

“Jay,” Dick tries and there’s an edge of his own whine in his voice. This one is purposeful though, and it’s a dirty trick - no better than an alpha pulling their ‘command voice’ on him - but Dick is too frazzled to hold it back. “We need him, please. You’re hurt. Slade, he - he _knotted_ you.”

As if Jason doesn’t already know that. As if Jason isn’t the one it had fucking happened to. And he probably shouldn’t even be calling Bruce first - Jason needs an ambulance more than he needs his alpha - but it’s been ingrained in Dick from so early on that Bruce is the one to go to. Dick _needs_ him.

And it’s so fucking selfish, but Jason doesn’t complain as Dick fumbles for his phone, just rests his head in the crook of Dick’s neck, breathing wetly over the scent gland there. When Dick finally gets the phone open, his hands are shaking so badly that he struggles to find Bruce’s number. When he finally gets it right, the trill of the dial tone is almost deafening against the quiet.

“Dick?” Bruce’s voice is rough with concern but not quite his Batman growl. It loosens something tight and painful in Dick’s chest. “What’s wrong?”

Dick wonders what Bruce is thinking - what conclusion he’s jumped to for why Dick is calling him out of the blue on his civilian line just a few days after they had fought so badly that Dick hadn’t wanted to spend his heat at the manor. Nothing as bad as the truth, surely? Dick doesn’t think anything could be as bad as what happened.

He means to calmly ask Bruce to come to his apartment. Instead, what comes out when he opens his mouth is: “Alpha,” wet and strained and awful.

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Dick can practically smell the rush of protective alpha scent through the phone. “What’s wrong?” Bruce asks again, more urgently.

Dick can only sob in return. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to speak the words aloud. Against him, Jason trembles. 

“I’m coming over,” Bruce growls and, for once, the panic is clear as a bell in his voice. “Are you safe?”

Are they safe? It feels like the worst has already happened. But, if Slade had gotten in, that means other people could too - other alphas, other villains - and neither Dick nor Jason are in any sort of condition to fight anyone off. Even if no one else finds them, Jason is in danger, still. Every second they waste is one that Jason might not get back.

“I - I don’t know,” is what Dick eventually says - or sobs. “I - B, _please_.”

A snarl rips through the line. It shudders right through Dick and it’s furious, protective, and it makes all of Dick’s muscles go lax. Jason whines again, too quietly to reach Bruce through the phone. Dick nuzzles against him, trying to offer the same comfort he feels at Bruce’s voice.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, son.”

Dick just hopes it’s soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce doesn’t think he’s ever driven so fast or so recklessly - even back in the days when he’d been young and stupid, testing the limits of everything he did. He’d been at the office when Dick had called, wanting a break from the oppressive emptiness of the manor. Not that it was totally empty of course, Damian was there, Cassandra and Alfred and Ace, too. But Dick, conspicuously, wasn’t. Even though he’s in heat. Even though the manor is where he’s _supposed_ to be.

Then Dick had called him - something Bruce hadn’t been expecting for another week at least, given the way they had left it - and before he’d even picked up, he had known something was wrong. It had slid into his gut like a snake, cold and uncomfortable.

He’d been right. When he had picked up, Dick had been crying. Not just crying, _sobbing_ , whimpering on every exhale. And Bruce’s protective alpha instincts had surged up on him like a tidal wave. As much as Bruce has always tried not to treat Dick differently, he’s still the pack’s only omega, and knowing he’s hurting, hearing him cry on the other end of the phone and not being close enough to help him, _knowing_ he’s in heat, well...Bruce is actually quite proud of the way he restrained himself. Not many alpha’s would have been able to politely excuse themselves before tearing out of the office to get to their omega - their pup.

Bruce parks haphazardly on the street, not caring that he probably shouldn’t leave his nice, expensive car out in the open in Bludhaven of all places, not caring that, technically, he’s not supposed to know the location of his son’s most-used safehouse. Dick hadn’t volunteered his address, but Bruce doubts he’ll be surprised to see him. And Bruce honestly doesn’t care if he is. All Bruce can think is that he needs to get inside. He needs to get to Dick.

There aren’t many things that could bring Dick to call Bruce, hysterical, in the middle of his heat, despite the ferocious argument they’d had just a few days earlier. Any other time, Bruce might think he was injured badly on patrol or one of the family was hurt or, God-forbid, someone was dead. Knowing Dick is in heat though, Bruce’s stupid alpha brain can only think of one thing.

No. Bruce tries to force that thought aside as he skids into the apartment lobby and heads up, taking the stairs two at a time. Bruce doesn’t want to think _that_. Not about his son. Not about Dick. Instead, he focuses on counting each flight of stairs as he sprints up them. He isn’t in the Batman uniform - hadn’t had the time or the presence of mind to think about changing - but it’s not like anyone stops him, anyway. In Bludhaven, just as in Gotham, people learn pretty quickly to mind their own business. And Bruce knows that he stinks of furious alpha. There aren’t many people who would be willing to risk confronting him.

The door to Dick’s apartment is ajar and that alone is enough to freeze the breath in Bruce’s lungs. Before he can think better about it, Bruce shoulders his way in. If he was in a better headspace, more in control of himself, Bruce might have been more careful about it. He might have stopped to take stock of the situation, to get a little bit of a clue as to what might be waiting for him on the other side.

Right now, though, Bruce is just desperate to get to his pup, and the door is just another thing standing in his way.

As soon as Bruce steps into the room, the scent hits him like a brick wall. It’s such a strong, confusing mix of smells, that at first, Bruce can’t pick any particular one out of the bunch. He has to pause in the doorway, breathing shallowly for a few moments, to get his bearing and then -

Fear. It’s the strongest scent in the room, sharp and metallic and thick on Bruce’s tongue. And not just from Dick - Bruce smells Jason in there too, the slightly more acidic quality telling him that his second son was here, and he was just as afraid as Dick.

If Bruce’s stomach wasn’t already churning, that would set it off. He hadn’t known that Jason was here, although he probably should have guessed. Dick isn’t stupid or desperate enough to spend a heat entirely alone. He must have invited Jason here to help him through it - an acceptable pack alpha to replace the protection Bruce should have provided. Then something had happened - something to explain the strength of the fear in the air, the metallic scent of blood and pain.

It’s not hard to guess what. Even if Bruce’s alpha brain hadn’t immediately jumped to that conclusion, the heavy smell of arousal that runs like a current under the fog of fear would tip him off. It isn’t just Dick’s caramel heat scent that Bruce would expect - that should be the only arousal Bruce can smell in a room where his son is in the middle of his heat - although Bruce can smell that too. It’s heavier, thicker, unfamiliar. An alpha that isn’t pack.

Oh God. Thinking it and knowing it are two utterly different things. And with the nauseating mix of alpha and omega arousal and fear and pain and _blood_ , Bruce is confronted with _knowing_. Knowing that his son has been raped.

Bruce’s stomach flips. His throat aches. It feels as though the vacuum of his chest has sucked all of his organs up behind his ribs. He thinks he might vomit, if he could unlock his jaw far enough to let the bile in his throat surge out. He knows, distantly, that his own scent is flaring through the room, sharp with fury and grief, but all he can smell is Dick. The familiar scent of his son twisted into something awful.

He needs to find him. He needs to help him.

But, at first glance, the room is empty. It’s not a particularly large room - a studio apartment with a basic kitchen at one end and a bed at the other. Bruce’s eyes catch on that and stick. Before he can think better of it, he’s moving forward on wooden legs until he’s standing right over it.

The smell is stronger than ever here and it isn’t hard to figure out why. There’s a little puddle of vomit just beside the bed. The sheets are rumpled and twisted. A pair of metal cuffs are tangled around the bars of the headboard - and Bruce’s stomach does another queasy somersault at that. But worse than that - worst of all - are the bright spots of blood littering the white sheets and the bleachy stink of semen that Bruce can’t help but inhale this close. He smells slick too, a small damp patch on the mattress, and has to close his eyes and breathe shallowly for a few seconds to get a hold of himself before he can force himself to turn back to the rest of the room.

“Dick?” he calls, low and soft but loud enough to carry through the small apartment. A rumble rises through his chest after it, an attempt to comfort the distressed omega. “It’s Bruce, son. I’m here.”

A whine splits the air in response. The sound has Bruce’s heart leaping in his throat and he turns automatically towards the source. A cupboard. Dick has hidden himself in one of the cupboards - an emergency nest if Bruce had to guess - and it’s not uncommon omega behaviour to find somewhere small and dark to hide in when distressed, but it makes Bruce’s chest hurt anyway.

It only takes a few long steps to get to the cupboard door and Bruce can tell by the concentration of smell that both Dick and Jason are in there. It had been Dick who had called him, earlier, despite his clear distress, and suddenly, Bruce is afraid of what that means. If Dick was in trouble, he knows Jason would sacrifice his pride to call their alpha, so why hadn’t he? Why had Dick had to be the one to get in contact with him?

Some of the blood in the air is definitely Jason’s - some of the fear and pain, too. Is Jason hurt? Too hurt to make the phone call himself? Was he injured trying to protect Dick?

The thought almost has him ripping the door off its hinges. Thankfully, he controls himself just in time. Bruce is their pack alpha, familiar and, hopefully, comforting, but the last thing he wants to do is scare either of his sons by ripping open the safe space they’ve created. Blundering into Dick’s nest whilst he’s hurt, whilst he’s in heat and terrified and _violated_ is a recipe for disaster.

Instead, he knocks softly to let them know he’s there. “Dick?” he croons, through the wood. “It’s me, sweetheart. Is it OK if I come in?”

There’s another whine, then, soft and shaky, “Alpha?”

That’s all Bruce needs. Rather than ripping the door off, he gently eases it open. As expected, both Dick and Jason are huddled inside, crammed into a haphazard nest, curled around each other. Jason’s head is buried in Dick’s throat, his face hidden from Bruce. The smell of blood is almost overwhelming in the confined space. Bruce can see it gleaming wetly on Dick’s neck - not enough to explain the strength of the smell, but enough to have his stomach clenching. He doesn’t want to think about where the rest of it has come from.

“Dickie,” Bruce breathes and his oldest son looks up at him, blinking. His face is startlingly pale, his eyes red rimmed and silvery tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. There’s blood around his mouth.

Bruce reaches for him automatically but Dick recoils, snarling, his arms tightening around Jason hard enough to force a small noise of pain from the alpha. Bruce snatches his hand back. It hurts to have his son react to him like that, but he understands it. He’s not sure if Dick is even truly aware of his surroundings.

So he crouches, to ensure he isn’t looming over them, to make himself smaller and less threatening. Dick’s eyes follow him as he lowers himself. Bruce holds his hands up placatingly and starts a low rumble from deep in his chest.

Dick blinks. Then he keens, listing towards Bruce. Instinctively, Bruce catches him, leaning half-into the cupboard to get an arm around him and press him gently against his chest. Dick goes limp, although he doesn’t relinquish his grip on Jason. Turns his face up to snuffle over the scent gland beneath Bruce’s jaw and Bruce responds with a fierce scenting of his own. Dick smells...he smells like Bruce needs to tear someone apart - the warm scent of caramel curdled with fear, the stench of an aroused alpha all over him. Bruce scrubs his cheek over Dick’s in an attempt to spread his own protective alpha scent. Licks at the tears on his cheeks. Sniffs at the wet wound on his neck - a bite inflicted by the alpha who attacked him, undoubtedly. The thought sends icy prickles over Bruce’s skin. He recognises an attempt to claim and subdue an omega when he sees one.

“B,” Dick murmurs, small and strangled.

“I’m here,” Bruce rumbles, clutching his son tighter. “I’m here now. Where are you hurt, Dick? What happened?”

Dick shakes his head, pressing his face harder into Bruce’s throat. “Not me,” he mumbles. “Jason. He -“ a shuddering, half-sobbing breath. “He hurt Jason.”

Bruce’s blood runs cold. He’d been so focussed on Dick he’d almost forgotten, for a moment, that Jason was here, that he’s injured. He pulls back a little, shifting his focus to his younger son. Jason has barely reacted to his presence, his face still pressed against Dick. Now that he’s looking, Bruce can see blood smeared across his neck too, weeping from the ragged wound torn into his throat. The result of a battle for dominance with the alpha who had attacked Dick? It’s a brutal wound. Easily bad enough to cause permanent damage.

Bruce pushes that thought aside before it can choke him. “OK,” he says instead, voice surprisingly steady. “Let me take a look, Jay.”

Jason picks his head up at that and if Bruce had thought Dick looked bad, Jason somehow manages to look worse. The wound on his neck, now Bruce can see it better, looks as if someone had honestly tried to tear his son’s throat out and a red mark spreads across his jaw where he’s clearly been hit. He’s shirtless (Why? Some sort of powerplay from the alpha that nearly tore his fucking throat out?) blood trickling over his bare skin, bruises forming dark shadows up his ribs. There are tears streaking over his face, too, and his eyes are shiny and glazed. 

“B?” he slurs. He looks between Bruce and his brother, blinking slowly. Too slowly. If his scent gland has been totally destroyed… “I told you not to call him, _Dickhead_.”

That hurts, a sharp sting in Bruce’s chest. He knows he and Jason don’t always get on but he thought they were close enough that his son would come to him if he was in danger. And if not, he’d hope that he would call, at least for Dick’s sake. Why would Jason want to stop Dick from contacting him? When they’re both clearly in so much distress?

“I know Jay,” Dick croons, soothingly, all classic omega. “I’m sorry. You need - we need -”

Bruce has the sudden, sinking feeling that he’s misread this somehow. That there’s something he doesn’t understand. He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat.

“OK, well, I’m here now. Are you injured? Let’s get you out of the nest so I can take a look.”

It takes a little maneuvering to get them both out. The nest is barely big enough for two and Jason hisses in pain with almost every movement, stiff and uncooperative. Still, Bruce carefully frees him, pulling him up against his chest so that he can scent Jason too, as Dick climbs out after him.

At first glance, there are no obvious wounds, beside the bites on both of their necks and the bruises already forming on Jason’s jaw and ribs and webbing across Dick’s throat. When Dick reaches out to brush Jason’s curls away from his damp face, Bruce catches sight of his wrists - rubbed raw and oozing blood, no doubt from fighting against the cuffs Bruce had seen on the bed. There’s a dark stain spread across Dick’s thighs, too, and Bruce has to close his eyes and bury his face in Jason’s hair to try to fight back the bile rising in his throat.

Except, that doesn’t really help. Because Jason stinks of aroused alpha - far more than Bruce would expect, even if Jason had fought Dick’s attacker hand-to-hand and been overpowered. When Bruce shifts to scent him properly, rubbing their faces together, he gets a whiff of alpha claim - of blood and, worst of all, semen.

Jason pushes weakly at his chest, growling. “I ain’t a pup, old man.” But he doesn’t pull away and Bruce can feel the heave of his ribs as he huffs his alpha’s scent.

Dick leans closer too, plastering himself against Bruce’s side and burying his nose in his neck.

“What happened?” Bruce growls through his half-closed throat, again, trying to understand. “Where are you injured? What happened?”

“Slade,” Dick starts, then cuts off with a little whimper when Bruce snarls. 

Slade Wilson. Bruce should have recognised the scent. He should have known. Slade has always been...inappropriately interested in Dick. Before this, Bruce had always brushed it off as simply an intimidation tactic, knowing his son can take care of himself. 

Clearly, he shouldn’t have. Because now he’s confronted with the fact that Slade Wilson has raped Dick - Bruce’s son. Bruce’s pup. Somehow, he’d broken into Dick’s den whilst the omega was in heat, vulnerable without the protection of his pack alpha. He’d fought Jason, hurt him, before tying Dick to the bed with those awful cuffs. Then he’d raped Bruce’s son.

Bruce can practically feel his scent flaring, so thick it’s almost physical as fury burns like fire through his veins. His throat is so swollen he can barely even loose a growl.

Despite the bloom of scent, or perhaps because of it, Dick takes a shaky breath before continuing. “Slade he - he knotted him. It’s bad, B, he’s lost a lot of blood.”

What? Bruce’s heart skips a beat. Knotted him? Knotted _Jason_? That’s not at all what Bruce was expecting to hear. That’s not possible. Jason is an alpha. Alphas can't...alphas don’t…

Except, he knows that alphas can and do better than anyone. Bruce has been Batman long enough to have seen almost anything. He knows alphas can be raped just as much as omegas can. He’s seen the aftermath of non consensual knottings before. He knows it can happen - to alphas and omegas. It’s just…

It’s just that it’s Dick who’s in heat. It’s Dick who Bruce, smelling that gut-curdling mix of alpha and omega arousal, had assumed was attacked. Alphas can rape other alphas, sure, but there aren’t many that would pass up an in-heat omega.

Maybe Slade hadn’t. Dick had said he knotted Jason, but that doesn’t mean he left Dick untouched. Had Slade Wilson raped both of Bruce’s sons, whilst he’d been sitting in some stuffy board meeting, utterly unawares? Had he attacked Jason in a sick display of dominance then followed it up by hurting Dick?

Not that it makes it better or worse, which of Bruce’s sons the sick asshole attacked. But Bruce likes to know the facts. He likes to understand exactly what happened. And he feels painfully out of the loop right now. His son is hurt and he doesn’t even know how.

Well, he knows one thing. He knows that Slade had raped Jason. _Knotted_ him. He knows how much damage a knot can do - even to an omega. The stench of blood makes sense, now, despite the lack of obvious sources.

Oh God. Bruce feels cold horror sink through his gut like a stone. He can’t stop himself from pulling Jason closer, tucking his son’s head more firmly beneath his chin to allow him better access to his throat. He scents him again, shakily, and Jason doesn’t complain, even though Bruce knows his scent must be acrid with his protective anger. 

Maybe he has lost too much blood. Normally, Jason would never allow himself to be coddled and scented like this. He’s too limp in Bruce’s arms. Too quiet.

“OK,” Bruce says, thickly but surprisingly steady. “OK, we’re going to get you to a doctor, Jay. It’s going to be OK.”

Except, he doesn’t know if it will be OK. He doesn’t actually know what to do. Normally, his mind would be two steps ahead, planning out every contingency, already confident about what he should do and what his next move should be. Now his head feels like it’s filled with static. All his thoughts have narrowed down to the hurt kid in his arms and pressed against his shoulder. He can’t _think_.

Instinct tells him to take Jason back to the cave, to entrust his care to Alfred and no one else, but the more rational part of his brain tells him that wouldn’t be the best idea. Jason trusts Alfred, probably more than he trusts anyone, but the younger alpha has been hurt so intimately. Even if Bruce is confident Alfred could handle the situation, it’s not a position that either of them need to be put in. Jason won’t want Alfred to see him like that - vulnerable and hurt in such a horrific way - and Bruce finds he doesn’t want that either. There’s nothing shameful about what happened to Jason - _Bruce_ feels ashamed, ashamed of himself and how useless he was, how he let this happen, but that’s a different story - but he can guess how Jason will feel. It will be better to take him to someone more impartial.

They aren’t in their superhero identities and Jason has technically been revived both legally and publicly, so Bruce could take him to the local hospital. The doctors and nurses there would be impartial and Bruce’s money will ensure Jason gets the best care. It’s just...the alpha in Bruce bristles at the idea of strangers touching his son after he’s been hurt so badly. The thought of some random alpha with their hands on Jason, especially when the stink of aroused alpha still clings to Bruce’s son, makes him almost frantic with rage.

So, probably not the hospital then. The last thing Bruce wants to do is freak out on some poor, undeserving Bludhaven doctor just because they’re trying to help and Bruce can’t handle that. And it’s not as if they need a rape kit. Bruce knows exactly who did this and he won’t need the police to help him find justice. It would only mean involving more strangers in Jason’s business and creating the opportunity for his private pain to be aired. Bruce won’t allow that.

Which only really leaves one option. 

“Dick, chum, will you call Leslie and let her know what’s happening?”

He feels Dick nod against his neck before taking another steadying breath and pulling away. Stupidly, Bruce misses the weight of him against his side. He wants to drag him back into his arms and hold him tight and soothe away his hurt but Jason is already a heavy weight in his lap and Bruce owes Leslie some warning before presenting her with this. 

Jason pushes against his chest again, with more strength this time. “I don’t need Leslie,” he grumbles. “Just take me back to my safehouse and keep Dick company. I’m fine.”

Instinctively, Bruce tightens his arms, although being trapped by a stronger alpha is probably more frightening than comforting for Jason right now. It’s hard not to give in to his desire to hold his pup close, though. It’s more than just pack-alpha instincts - it’s the fact that Jason is his _son_ and when he holds him like this, he might as well be that skinny little twelve-year-old that Bruce had first taken in. He’s taller now, of course, broader and he fits more awkwardly in Bruce’s lap. But when Bruce buries his nose in Jason’s curls, he’s transported years into the past.

Only, in those years in between, Jason has been hurt more terribly than Bruce could have ever imagined.

“If Slade -” and he spits the name out like bile, like poison, “- if he knotted you, Jay, you need to see a doctor. This isn’t something you can pretend didn’t happen. Not if you’re hurt.”

“I’m not fucking hurt,” Jason growls. He pushes away again and, this time, Bruce lets his arms fall limp, not wanting to cage him in. Jason doesn’t make it far, though. Whether because of his injuries or the bites that have been inflicted on him, he only makes it to his knees, whimpering in pain before he falls still, forehead pressed against the carpet. Like this, Bruce can clearly see the dark stain spreading across the back of Jason’s jeans, the smear of red streaked across his own pants where Jason had been pressed into his lap.

Bile surges thick and fast up Bruce’s throat and threatens to choke him. The wave of nausea is so strong that Bruce is afraid he might throw up right there, into his own lap. He’s not sure what sort of noise he makes - something strangled and ugly, no doubt - but Jason echoes it with a thin whine.

As if summoned by the sound, Dick materialises at Jason’s side, wrapping one arm around his back with a confidence that Bruce wishes he felt. “It’s too late now, Little Wing,” he croons, somehow managing to sound reassuring, “Leslie is already setting up. We just have to get you there.”

He throws a pale-faced look over his shoulder and Bruce is suddenly hit by the realisation that Dick might be injured too. That he _is_ injured, if the bite and the bruises are anything to go by. A knot might be easier for an omega to take but that doesn’t mean Dick isn’t hurt.

Jesus, how has Bruce fucked this up so badly? How has he allowed this to happen to his sons? His babies?

“Help me with him,” Dick murmurs and Bruce swallows against his self-loathing to do just that.

Even with the two of them helping Jason, it’s an effort to get him to the car. Jason is difficult and uncooperative, mostly trying to walk on his own even though the hormones from Slade’s bite are clearly making his body hard to control and struggling down the stairs must be hurting him. Dick still stinks of heat and the vulnerability of both of his sons has Bruce so on edge that he feels he might snap. Bludhaven is not the sort of place where Bruce is comfortable having his in-heat omega son out in the stairwell for anyone to smell and with Jason barely able to stand between them, leaking blood and violation with every step, Bruce is keenly aware that his protective alpha scent might not be enough to keep disreputable alphas at bay.

By the time they finally make it to the car - somehow still there and intact - Bruce is trembling with tension. Jason flops into the backseat with a pained grunt, pulling away from Dick when the omega clambers in the other side and tries to drag his brother close. There’ll be blood on the seat by the time they get to Leslie’s clinic, Bruce guesses. Slick too. The thought is not a pleasant one.

His knuckles are white around the wheel as he peels away from the curb and starts the drive back to Gotham at only a slightly less frantic pace than the drive here. In the back seat, he can hear the rasp of Jason’s pained breaths, as well as wet little hitching noises that might be sobs, although he can’t tell which of them they’re coming from.

“Tell me what happened,” Bruce growls, only partly so he doesn’t have to hear those anymore.

There’s a tense silence behind him and Bruce starts to think that maybe Dick won’t answer him. Maybe it’s too painful - too fresh and raw. Maybe Bruce is hurting them by asking. But, God, he wants to know.

No. Not wants, because Bruce has never wanted anything less. _Needs_. Bruce needs to know what happened.

A heavy breath. Then, in a trembling voice: “It was my fault.”

Bruce’s chest clenches. “Dick -” he tries, but his son cuts him off before he can get the denial out.

“Slade broke into the safehouse. I don’t actually think he was expecting me to be there. Jason was out getting supplies.” 

“Shut up, _Dick_ ,” Jason snarls. “You don’t need to fucking tell him.”

Bruce watches in the rearview mirror as Dick throws Jason a sorrowful look. His second son is leaning against the window, his arms crossed over his chest, and he meets Bruce’s eyes in the mirror with a glare.

“You don’t,” Bruce agrees, softly, although all he wants to do is shake Dick until the whole story comes rattling out. He won’t force that on Dick though. Not if it’s going to hurt him.

Dick shakes his head. He looks at Jason again and the alpha sets his jaw and turns away, clearly reading the intent in Dick’s face. 

“He smelled I was in heat, obviously,” Dick continues, as if there had been no interruption, but he’s staring hard at his hands where they’re folded in his lap. “He...came at me. Scruffed me and handcuffed me to the bed. It was all some stupid powerplay. Slade doesn’t - he doesn’t even _like_ omegas.”

Bruce hadn’t known that. It doesn’t particularly help, though. Not with the image of that bastard’s hands on Dick’s neck, of him pinning Dick to the bed in his own den while he was in heat and vulnerable.

“Jason got back and -” An awful hitching breath. “They fought. Slade bit him. Then he dragged him over to the bed and pushed him down on top of me and -”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

Dick falls abruptly silent. Not that Bruce needs him to continue - he can guess exactly what happened next. Slade had raped Jason right on top of Dick. Knotted him. Claimed him. Practically torn his throat out. And then what? Had he raped Dick then, too? Rape isn’t always a matter of sexual orientation, Bruce knows. Even if Slade doesn’t like omegas, it doesn’t mean that Dick was safe.

Not that what Dick had described isn’t horrific enough. Bruce can’t imagine how painful and terrifying that must have been for them both. Is trying very, very hard not to imagine it - Slade Wilson pressing both of his sons into the bed, the smell of Dick’s heat and Slade’s arousal heavy in the air, Jason trapped and helpless between them.

He’s not doing a very good job of it.

The confined air of the car is thick with anger - both his and Jason’s. It’s almost enough to drown out the stench of blood and Slade’s arousal. Almost, but not quite. Bruce grips the steering wheel hard enough that it creaks in protest, staring blankly out of the windshield as Gotham starts to loom into view, and tries to will himself to calm down a little. Flying into a rage right now is not going to help anything.

Still, Bruce can feel his blood burning hot under his skin. His gums itch with the urge to snarl and challenge and bite. If Slade Wilson were here…

Except, he isn’t here, and Bruce will have to save his retribution for when he knows his sons are safe.

“Dick, did he…” he struggles with the words, has to force them out of his throat one-by-one, “did he touch you, too?”

Dick’s answer is immediate. “No. No, he bit me, but he wasn’t interested. Not like that.”

As he says it, something dark flickers across his face that Bruce can’t read. He’ll have to deal with that later, he knows, but for now Bruce lets himself enjoy the relief that blooms tentatively in his chest. It doesn’t change the fact that Dick was hurt. Doesn’t change the horrific thing that happened in that room. Doesn’t change that Slade had raped Jason. But if one of Bruce’s sons was spared this awful violation?

Well, at this point, Bruce will take what he can get.

Tearing down the highway towards Gotham with one son battered and bleeding in the backseat and the other leaking heat and distress into the tiny space of the car, it doesn’t feel like much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy :)

Jason wakes to the familiar sensation of having been drugged into unconsciousness. His head feels fuzzy and strangely heavy. His mouth tastes like cotton wool and feet and his eyes are gummy. When Jason surfaces enough to be aware of the rest of his body, he can barely feel it through the fluffy layer of drugs. There’s pain, sure, but it’s muted, lurking at the edges of his awareness rather than screaming its displeasure.

Which means he’s on the good stuff. Not a kidnapping then, most likely. An injury? Jason tries to force his brain into gear but the memories skitter away from him each time he reaches for them. He has no idea what happened. He has no idea where he is.

Something is beeping softly nearby. Further away, Jason can hear the low hum of voices, the shuffle of movement. It’s too distant for Jason to really be concerned about, even if he could summon the will for it, so he lets it fade into the background even if he shouldn’t. The sound of steady breathing far closer to Jason is of more concern, anyway.

Without giving away that he’s conscious, Jason tries to subtly scent the air. There’s the sharp stink of bleach and disinfectant that is all Jason can smell for a long moment, then, underneath that, the metallic tang of blood and the too-sweet scent of sickness.

Most likely Jason is in a hospital then. He’s been in enough of them to recognise the scent and it isn’t one he particularly enjoys. Worse, he can’t remember how he got here. It’s not the Batcave’s medbay, which always smells a little like rank animal, so either he was injured as a civilian, or he managed to drag himself here without the bats knowing.

Except, that can’t be true, because on a second inhale Jason picks up a scent he recognises: bitter coffee and brown sugar and warm metal. It’s muted - almost lost beneath the chemical tang of cleaning products - but Jason knows exactly who it belongs to.

If Tim is here, then why hasn’t Jason been dragged back to the cave?

Jason blinks his eyes open and is suddenly struck by the memory of them fluttering shut, Leslie’s face looming over him as the whole world went dark. Then, as if a switch has been flicked, the rest of his memories come too.

Jason tenses. It hurts, aching muscles complaining at being suddenly put back to use. Pain flares in his chest as he jerks into rigidity and it catches his breath in his throat which, now that Jason’s attention has been drawn to it, throbs with a dull, radiating ache. When he swallows, it feels like he’s been gargling with glass. It’s almost enough to have him whining, if the sound could even make it out of his agonised throat.

“Hey,” Jason hears, through the haze of drugs and pain. “You’re alright Jason. Just calm down, OK? Everything is fine.”

Everything is decidedly _not_ fine, but maybe Tim doesn’t know that. Maybe Bruce and Dick had kept something to themselves for once in their Goddamn lives and Tim has no real idea of why he’s actually here.

A hand touches his arm. Jason would jerk away, but the touch is accompanied by a burst of reassuring scent, sweet and familiar, and Jason _hates_ the fact that it works. Hates the way his muscles slowly go slack. The way his breathing starts to even out, steady inhales drawing more of that scent into his lungs.

Tim’s face slides into view. He looks tired, dark circles ringing puffy eyes, his skin shockingly pale in the fluorescent hospital lighting. He smiles.

“Don’t do that,” Jason snaps, before Tim can say something stupid like _it’s fine_ again. This time, his arm obeys him when he tries to jerk it out of reach. His ribs protest but Tim’s hand slips off of him.

Tim frowns. “Do what?”

“Just keep your fucking scent to yourself,” Jason snarls. His voice sounds _awful_ , hoarse and strained with the pain clutching his throat tight.

He tries to struggle upright, suddenly uncomfortable with being trapped on his back with Tim leaning over him. The dull throb of pain at the base of his spine flares into agonising life and he has to grit his teeth against the wounded little noise that tries to slip out of his mouth. 

Tim grabs at his shoulder in an attempt to force him back onto the bed. But Jason growls, “Don’t touch me,” and Tim lets go like he’s been burned.

“Sorry,” Tim breathes. “You shouldn’t get up, though. You’ve just had major surgery.”

Jason slumps back against the pillows. That brief action had sapped most of his energy anyway. Not that he’s planning to stay here for long. As soon as he can, he's going to get out of here - hopefully before any more bats turn up.

Does Tim know why he’s here? Did Bruce tell him the reason for Jason’s surgery? God, Jason hopes not. Bruce and Dick knowing is bad enough, he doesn’t need anyone else knowing how thoroughly he’d gotten his ass kicked, how easily he’d been overpowered, how his body had yielded to Slade’s desire with painful obedience.

“You shouldn’t be talking either. Slade really did a number on your throat.”

Despite himself, Jason flinches at the name. Tim’s face creases in concerned sympathy and Jason feels his stomach lurch. So much for Tim not knowing what happened. Which means that the whole fucking family has probably heard about Jason’s failure.

“If you’d _go away_ ,” Jason croaks, “I wouldn’t have to do any talking.”

Tim’s face pinches. “I can send Bruce in if you prefer, but he didn’t want you to be alone.”

“Bruce is here? He’s not at the manor with Dickie bird?”

Tim shakes his head. He doesn’t seem as surprised by the fact that Bruce had abandoned their pack omega in the middle of his heat - after he’d _just_ been attacked - as Jason is.

“Damian and Alfred are with Dick. Cass too. B wanted to be here when you woke up.”

For some reason, that has Jason’s stomach squirming uncomfortably. It’s the same feeling he always seems to get nowadays when he’s under Bruce’s scrutiny. They’ve been getting along better recently, but somehow that just seems to make it worse. It was easier when they hated each other.

Knowing that Bruce had left an in-heat Dick at the manor with only Cass, a pup, and a beta for company, only intensifies that feeling. And worse, Jason can’t help his own fear at the thought. He’d agreed to stay with Dick through his heat for a reason, after all. And Jason remembers how scared and vulnerable Dick had been underneath him - how easily Slade had subdued him too, with a vicious bite to the omega’s neck.

Dick needs his pack alpha. Except, their pack alpha is supposedly here. With Jason.

“Well, I don’t see him,” he rasps. Because Bruce isn’t in the room with them. If Jason concentrates, he can catch the hint of bourbon and leather that tells him Bruce was here, but the man himself is nowhere to be seen.

“He’s outside,” Tim says and there’s something curiously tight in his voice. He steps a little closer again, now that Jason has slumped back against the pillows, then there’s something cold and damp pressing at Jason’s lips - ice. Jason swallows it gratefully, even if the movement of his throat hurts. “He - uh - he wasn’t sure if you’d be OK with him actually being _here_ when you woke up. He didn’t want to freak you out.”

That feeling again, like nausea but too cold. It makes his stomach feel heavy and his neck prickle. Since when has Bruce cared about Jason’s comfort? The man is king of forcing himself into situations where he isn’t wanted and even better at disregarding Jason’s feelings about the matter. And what? All of a sudden he’s all careful and caring? Because Jason lost a fight? Because Jason had gotten himself…?

Well, Jason knows exactly why but the thought still rankles. It makes him snappish - or more snappish than he’d already been.

“So he sent his little beta in to keep an eye on me did he?”

He regrets it the moment he says it. None of this is Tim’s fault and Jason has never been one to stereotype. The cliche of betas as meek little mediators is as old as omegas being weak and sex-obsessed or alphas being aggressive, bullheaded predators. Sure, Tim’s good at seeing what the pack needs and slotting right in to provide it, but he’s more than that.

“Sorry,” Jason says, before Tim can reply. “I didn’t mean -“

“It’s fine,” Tim interrupts. He’s moved away from the bed again, as if he thinks Jason needs the space, and his face is surprisingly soft. “I don’t mind.”

Jason scowls. “You should.”

Tim just shrugs, fiddling with the little cup of ice in his hands. “Do you want me to send him in?” He asks, so softly that Jason has to strain to hear him.

Does he? Jason can remember Bruce finding them in that little emergency nest Dick had shoved him into, despite the dissociation that had been fogging Jason’s head. He remembers the utter relief that had rushed through him at the alpha’s - _his alpha’s_ \- scent, cutting through the fear and Slade's awful arousal. The warmth of his arms around him. The leather and bourbon smell of Bruce. It had soothed Jason’s fractured instincts, even if he hadn’t wanted it to.

A part of him wants that now. Wants Bruce to wrap him up in his arms and scent him so thoroughly that the claim Slade has smeared onto his skin is nothing but a distant memory. Wants Bruce to bite him, even, to overwrite the ragged wound on Jason’s neck with a pack-bite to match Dick’s.

The other part of him - the alpha that’s still angry at Bruce, that still chafes at his orders and recoils from his affection - wants to get up out of the bed and slip out of the window before he ever has to face him. Even if Tim doesn’t know (and he does, Jason knows he does) there’s no pretending that Bruce doesn’t. Even if Dick hadn’t told him exactly what happened, Bruce can’t have missed the evidence left all over Jason, Slade’s scent and seed and saliva, Jason’s blood and bruises.

The thought catches in Jason’s throat. He was supposed to be protecting Dick. He was supposed to be better than their pack alpha. He knows Dick had only chosen him because of the spectacular argument he’d had with Bruce just days before his heat, knows that he had been a second choice, but in Bruce’s absence, Jason was supposed to have kept Dick safe. 

And, yet, he’d failed so utterly. He’d been _weak_. Finding Dick like that - handcuffed to the bed, Slade Wilson between his thighs - had been a nasty shock. Jason’s instincts had taken over, a surge of red hot anger that had boiled through his veins. He’d been fighting to protect Dick, to keep the ill-intentioned alpha away from his pack mate, and, yet, Jason had allowed Slade to over power him, to hurt him. It was only luck that had meant Slade was more interested in Jason. Once he’d had him underneath him, bitten him, he could so easily have gone straight back to Dick.

Jason can’t face Bruce. Not knowing that. Not when he’d failed to protect the pack omega. Not when he’d allowed Dick to get hurt. When he’d been so easily overpowered despite years of training. What must Bruce think of him? Or Tim? Or Alfred? What must _Dick_ think?

Bile burns Jason’s already aching throat. The urge to just get out washes over him so suddenly that he struggles to breathe past it. He can’t still be here when Bruce decides he’s done pretending to respect Jason’s boundaries. He doesn’t think he can sit through the lecture he’s bound to receive. He doesn’t think he can handle Bruce’s disappointment and disgust.

Abruptly, Jason starts pulling at the wires attaching him to the machines around the bed, struggling to free himself, feeling suddenly unbearably confined. Tim startles at the movement. Then he springs forward, grabbing at Jason’s wrists to still him. Stupidly, Jason flinches at the sudden grip and Tim lets go as if he’s been burned.

“Shit, sorry,” he mumbles. Then, louder: “Stop, Jason. You can’t just rip those out, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m leaving,” Jason snarls. The words are short and breathless and Jason is aware, vaguely, that he’s breathing too fast, that every ragged heave is sending sparks of pain through his ribs. But he can’t stop himself. “I need - I’m not staying here. I’m -“

“Calm down,” Tim begs, his hands fluttering through the air like he wants to grab Jason again. “You’re safe, Jason, you don’t need to -“

Jason finally succeeds in ripping the last of the cords away from him. The heart monitor flatlines, a low droning buzz. Jason can barely hear it over the roar of his pulse in his ears. Free from the restraint, he tries to heave himself upright. Leslie’s clinic only has one floor. If Jason can make it to the window before Tim stops him, he can get back to his safe house without having to face Bruce and lick his wounds in peace. Then he can figure out exactly how he’s going to make Slade pay for what he did to him.

Pain spears like electricity up Jason’s spine as he staggers to his feet. His ribs protest with a sharp throb of agony. His throat aches. But Jason’s felt worse than this and he pushes through the pain to stay upright. His legs shake but ultimately hold. Tim hovers beside him, his hands out like he’s anticipating having to catch him.

“Get out of the way, short stack,” Jason growls, wrapping one arm around his throbbing ribs, supporting himself heavily against the bedframe with the other.

“You aren’t seriously going to take off?” Tim scoffs, but his face tells Jason that he fully believes he will. He’s right.

“Get out of the way,” Jason says again. 

Tim doesn’t move. He doesn’t grab at Jason, though, or try to stop him, so Jason shoves past him and starts fumbling with the latch of the window.

“Jason…”

The window protests creakily as Jason struggles to force it open. So do his ribs. By the time the gap is wide enough for Jason to squeeze through it, he’s panting with the effort and the pain. When he shifts his grip to the windowsill and starts to haul himself up, something closes hard around his wrist and tries to jerk him back.

“Don’t be stupid,” Tim says. “You’ll tear your stitches.”

Except, Jason barely hears him. The grip on his wrist is hard and unyielding, jerking his arms behind him, pulling on his screaming ribs. There’s a heavy weight at his back, a body beneath him. A growl in his ear and - worse - low sounds of pleasure. Jason struggles, kicks out, snarls and bares his teeth and it’s _useless_ , pointless. The alpha above him is an implacable weight, holding him down, _hurting_ him.

“Jason,” someone shouts, and the body underneath him writhes. Jason snarls again. Pain throbs at the base of his spine, burning deep inside him where it has no right to be. His throat _aches_. “Jason, stop! Bruce! B!”

In the distance, there’s a crash. Then strong arms wrap around Jason’s chest, pulling him up and Jason twists in the grip, cries out in pain as his chest flares at the movement. He snaps his teeth but instead of pulling away, one broad hand presses over the back of his head and draws him in close, pressing his face into soft skin.

The vulnerability of the action pulls Jason up short. With his face pressed against their throat like this, it would be so easy for Jason to dig his teeth in and tear - to do some serious damage to the alpha holding him still - but they seem utterly unconcerned.

“It’s OK,” a voice says, above his head, and Jason trembles. Growls. “Just calm down, Jaylad, you’re safe.”

The words are accompanied by a familiar scent and Jason inhales instinctively, his lungs filling properly for the first time since he’d woken up in that hospital bed. Despite himself, he feels his body relaxing. The weight at his back comforting rather than threatening. The growl shifts to a pathetic little whimper as he presses up into his father’s throat.

“Shh, you’re safe, Jason. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, Jason seems to snap back to himself. There’s no Slade here. No aroused alpha at his back, no hard length pressing against his thigh, no teeth at his neck. Just Bruce, holding Jason tight against his chest and Tim, crouching on the floor just a few steps away, his eyes wide in his pale face.

Shit. Embarrassment blooms hot in Jason’s aching chest. He’d just had a total freak out on Tim - bad enough that Bruce had thought the best option was to bust into the room and pull him off of him. What if he’d hurt Tim? What if he’d bitten him?

Jason shudders and Bruce’s arms tighten a little.

“What happened?” He asks, somewhere above Jason’s head and Jason has no idea whether he’s talking to him or Tim. 

Either way, it’s Tim who answers, his voice a little shaky. “He was trying to get out of the window so I - I grabbed him. I’m sorry Jason.”

Bruce hums. “Why were you trying to get out of the window?”

Something uncomfortable prickles over Jason’s skin. He pushes against Bruce’s chest and the alpha lets him go. Some part of Jason wishes he hadn’t - the part of him that’s flooded with hormones from Slade’s claim and the pack bite on his neck. The larger part of him is grateful for the ease in pressure. Bruce wouldn’t - Jason _knows_ Bruce wouldn’t hurt him but he still feels stiff and uncomfortable in his hold.

“I was trying to leave. I don’t need to take up one of Leslie’s beds.”

Bruce frowns. Although he let go of Jason, he hasn’t moved away, kneeling right beside where Jason is crouched on the floor. Jason should get up but he doesn’t have the energy. Something warm and wet is trickling down the inside of his thigh. His stomach lurches.

“There’s a door right there, Jaylad,” Bruce says, softly.

Irritation crawls like bile up Jason’s throat. “Yeah, well, I was trying to escape without a lecture.”

“A lecture?”

Jason heaves himself to his feet, gripping the edge of the bed with one shaking hand. Bruce follows him, stepping back to give Jason space, although his arms are outstretched in the same way Tim’s had been, anticipating a fall. Dizziness pulls a dark veil across Jason’s vision and he has to blink hard until Bruce fuzzes back into view.

“I know I fucked up, OK?” He presses his free hand hard over his face, ignoring the twinge of his ribs. “I don’t need you to tell me.”

“Jay -“

“I got Dick hurt. I - he would have been better off with you. I know that, OK? But it’s not like he’s ever going to have another heat with me again so you can fucking _lay off_.”

He’s breathing heavily, his arm trembling as he leans most of his weight against it. Bruce’s face is still and unreadable. Behind them, Tim is silent.

“I don’t think you fucked up,” Bruce says, eventually, once the silence has stretched to something thin. “And I wasn’t planning on giving you a lecture. If you really want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

That isn’t true. Bruce might like to think it is but Jason knows his pack alpha. He knows he’s not just going to walk out of here without a backward glance. Bruce likes to be in control. It’s why he’s here right now rather than at the manor with Dick. It’s why he’s still hovering at Jason’s side.

Jason can feel the heat of him through the thin hospital gown. It sends a pulse of both longing and repulsion through him. The warm trickle of liquid sliding down his leg drips onto the floor. Bruce’s eyes flicker to it and Jason watches his face crumple. Jason can’t bring himself to look. He can imagine the bright crimson spot against the linoleum well enough.

“But I would...prefer if you came back to the manor.”

“Fuck no,” Jason snaps before he can even think about it. The last thing he wants is to let Bruce trap him at the manor. At least, that’s what he tells himself, ignoring the sudden throb of longing that surges through his chest. Fucking hormones. “No fucking way you’re getting me back there.”

“I can’t let you leave alone,” Bruce says, his voice suddenly hard. And that’s the Bruce Wayne Jason knows and - well, doesn’t exactly love. “You’ve just woken up from major surgery.” Bruce’s eyes flicker to the floor between Jason’s feet again, where more bright red spots of blood have no doubt gathered. “And it looks like you’ve torn your stitches. You have several cracked ribs and a damaged scent gland. It will be a while before your hormones return to normal.”

Instinctively, Jason clasps a hand over the wound in his neck. There’s gauze beneath his palm, dry and rough against his fingertips, hiding the claim Slade had torn into his skin. It’s not as if it actually ties him to the alpha, not really, but Jason can’t help the sudden urge to claw it out of his flesh, regardless. The flood of hormones the damaged gland produced are meant to make him weak and pliable, easy to manipulate, easy for Slade to keep small and trapped and _his_. As if Slade hadn’t done whatever he wanted to Jason even without the chemical aid.

Even a claiming bite can’t _force_ Jason to see Slade as his alpha. But Jason can feel the buzz of Slade at the back of his head in the same way he can feel Dick. The same way he’s only ever felt the presence of his pack members after he’s begrudgingly submitted to a bite. With them, it’s always felt comforting, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it - feeling their bond as something almost physical. With Slade, the constant reminder of what he did to Jason just makes him feel sick.

“They will go back to normal, though, right?” Jason asks and his voice is smaller than he wanted it to be.

Historically, claiming bites were meant to permanently damage the gland - meant to keep that flow of hormones constant. It had been a way of subjugating omegas. But alphas have the exact same glands, the exact same hormones. If Slade permanently damaged Jason’s gland…

Bruce’s face does something complicated before settling on an expression half-way between reassurance and pain. “They will. The damage isn’t permanent but it will take a while to heal. I don’t...think it’s a good idea for you to be alone while it does.”

Despite the hormones, Jason bristles. He doesn’t need Bruce to coddle him. He can look after himself.

Except, some small part of him does need Bruce to coddle him. The part that’s raw and wet and desperate for his pack's comfort. It’s not like Bruce is likely to respect Jason’s wishes either. If Bruce doesn’t want him to be alone, then Jason won’t be. Even if he does somehow manage to slip out and get to his safe house.

“It’ll be good for Dick to see you too,” Tim says from behind him and Jason’s throat throbs with the reminder of the omega’s bite.

Manipulative little beta, Jason thinks and immediately hates himself for it. It’s not Tim’s fault. Or, he admits, a little grudgingly, Bruce’s. It’s Jason who’s at fault, here, and if Dick wants to see him, then he owes the omega that.

And it’s easier than fighting. Jason is too tired to keep arguing.

“Fine,” he growls and finds he can’t look at Bruce as he says it. “But I’m only staying for the rest of Dick’s heat.”

“Of course,” Bruce lies.

⁂

Jason smells Dick’s heat before he even makes it to the bedroom, salted caramel spilling out into the hallway, thick and no less strong than it had been when Jason had been pressed over him. Clearly Dick’s heat hasn’t abated in the few days Jason has been at Leslie’s clinic - not that he was expecting it to.

Despite himself, Jason can’t help shuddering at the scent. His steps, already painful, falter. The alpha in him surges beneath his skin, desperate for him to take the final steps down the hallway and reassure his instincts that his pack omega is OK - that Slade Wilson hadn’t hurt him beyond recovery. The other part of him - the small and damaged part that sparks into life at the back of Jason’s skull at the smell, that remembers the cloying scent of caramel and iron as his face had been pressed into his brother’s throat by cruel hands - balks at the thought of getting any closer to the source of it.

“You don’t have to see Dick,” Bruce says, behind him, and Jason jumps at the closeness of his voice. “We can just get you set up in your old room. He’ll survive.”

Is he really that transparent? Jason’s shoulders hunch. As if Bruce doesn’t already see him as weak, as _pathetic_. As if he needs more ammunition.

“I’m only here to see Dick,” Jason growls. He forces himself to keep walking, ignoring the steady ache at the base of his spine. The stairs had been a challenge that Jason had refused to let Bruce help him with. “It’ll be kind of fucking pointless not to.”

“I’m just saying, Jay, you don’t need to force yourself -”

“Well don’t,” Jason snaps. “You don’t need to.”

Then he pushes the door open before he can think better of it.

The smell is even stronger without the barrier in the way and there’s no fear in it, here, no pain or blood or even arousal. It’s tempered, too, by the rest of the pack, familiar scents layered over Dick’s, almost as strong as the smell of his heat. Still, Jason can’t help the tightness of his throat or the little spark of anxiety in his gut. It’s stupid. Jason hates it. But he can’t help associating the smell with Slade - with what happened in that little Bludhaven apartment. His grip on the door handle is hard enough to hurt. He needs to get over himself. It’s not like Dick can change his scent any more than either of them can change what happened. Jason could just avoid Dick whenever his heats are due, but he doesn’t want to. Even without the pack bite, Jason finds the idea of abandoning Dick during his heats because of his own weakness utterly unpalatable.

So he swallows against the awful lump in his throat and forces himself to step into the room.

Dick is lying in the middle of a messy nest, sprawled across Bruce’s bed. It’s obviously not a nest that Dick has set up himself - Jason can tell at just a glance that someone else has put it together for him - but it’s passable. And Dick seems happy enough at the centre of it, the rest of the pack curled around him in a puppy pile despite the fact that Tim and Cass are too old to truly be called pups now.

They all stir when Jason enters the room. Tim’s head comes up from where it had been resting on Dick’s thigh to blink sleepily at Jason where he’s standing in the doorway. Cass stretches like a cat, rolling away from Dick, as if she expects Jason to slip into the space she’s left behind. Dick himself jolts upright, dislodging Damian from where he’d been curled up against his chest. Jason freezes at the sudden weight of their eyes on him. 

He should have known they would all be here. Of course they would be. Dick is the only omega in the pack. If it hadn’t been for the argument, this is exactly where he would have spent his heat, with the entirety of his pack surrounding him, safe and protected. If Slade had attacked him here, he would never have had the chance to truly hurt him. There would have been more than just Jason there to defend his honour.

So it isn’t a surprise that the rest of the pack are curled up in Dick’s nest but it doesn’t mean that Jason has to be happy about it. Because they know. The whole pack is aware of Jason’s awful, shameful failure and he can’t escape that. For a moment, he wonders if they’ll actually let him into the nest. Tim hadn’t seemed angry with him at Leslie’s clinic but it might be different now, actually in the nest, with Dick right there beside him. And even if Tim might be willing to let him in, there’s no way Damian will be willing to overlook the fact that Jason got Dick hurt. Cass might, if she wasn’t an alpha, but she is and Jason doesn’t know if he can handle their rejection with the hormones from Slade and Dick’s bites telling him that he _needs_ them. Maybe it would be better to just turn back around and leave.

Except, Bruce is a solid presence in the doorway behind him and Dick’s arms are outstretched and Jason can hear him crooning low in his throat.

“Jay,” he whimpers, sounding so _relieved_ and Jason’s feet take him to the nest without any real input from his brain.

Dick’s wrists are wrapped in plain white gauze. When he grabs Jason, he somehow manages not to flinch. Even when Dick drags him half-into the nest, pulling him close against his chest, Jason lets him. The uneasy churning of his stomach that’s been an undercurrent to the last few days settles a little at Dick’s touch. He’s here, warm and alive and as safe as he can be, and Jason’s alpha instincts purr at the obvious evidence of that. The pack bite on his neck throbs a little and Jason can almost feel Dick at the back of his head - his relief and anxiety a strange echo of Jason’s own.

“Jay, I’m - God, I’m so glad you’re OK.” His hands flutter over Jason, across his shoulders, his chest, light fingers brushing over his jaw, then the gauze covering the bite on Jason’s throat. There’s a matching square taped to Dick’s neck, bright against his skin. “Or...sorry, that’s a stupid thing to say. I mean...I’m glad you’re…”

Jason presses his face into the side of Dick’s neck. Someone touches his back - Cass, he thinks. Even with his nose against Dick, he can smell the rest of them, close in the air.

Behind them, Jason can sense Bruce moving closer. He can hear Alfred, too, moving around the room, although he has no idea when he got there.

Dick whimpers again, but it doesn’t sound frightened. His neck arches, pressing up against Jason’s mouth and he knows exactly what the omega wants. It’s what Dick always wants, during his heats. There are bruises already dotting his skin from the rest of the pack. Normally, Jason wouldn’t reciprocate a bite like this, especially with Dick’s pack bite still raw on his own skin, but this time, Jason can feel the urge in his chest. Don’t overthink it, Jason tells himself.

Then he opens his mouth against Dick and bites him, lightly, right over the scent gland beneath his jaw.

It’s nothing like the bites Slade had inflicted on them both. If it hurts, Dick gives no indication of it. Instead, he just slumps against Jason, wrapping both arms around him as their bond cements. Jason can feel his relief like a physical thing, his pain and sadness and _regret_ too. It fills him with a strange sense of longing. The rest of the pack are close enough that Jason can feel the heat of them. It would be so easy to pull back, to arch his own neck in invitation. When was the last time Bruce bit him? Would he want to? Now, after everything?

Jason presses his face harder against Dick to stop himself from giving into the insane impulse to find out. The hand on his back moves, sliding up to pet gently at the nape of his neck. Someone leans against him, a warm weight against his arm. Dick croons again, his own arms still wrapped carefully around Jason, avoiding putting pressure on his ribs.

Jason’s face is wet. It’s Dick, Jason tells himself, the buzz of their connection warm at the back of his skull. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Tucked against Dick like this, it’s not like anyone else can see. No one else has to know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this has taken so long and that it's shorter than the other chapters! I hope you enjoy it at least :)

Slade has been expecting Bruce. Honestly, he’s a little surprised the Bat hadn’t found him sooner. It’s been almost a week since his little adventure in Bludhaven and the Bat has been nowhere to be seen. 

Not that Slade should be particularly surprised by that. When he’d dropped in on Grayson, it was clear that he’d just started his heat. Slade still remembers that warm caramel smell with mingled irritation and arousal. Knowing the Bat, even his anger at Slade wouldn’t have overridden his alpha instinct to protect the pack omega. And that’s assuming either of the little birds had even told him. There was a reason they were both in Blüdhaven, after all.

Clearly he’d found out somehow, though, because now Slade is staring into the flashing white lenses of the shadow looming from the other side of the roof, dense black against the darkness of the Gotham sky.

Slade smirks, although Batman won’t be able to see it behind his mask. “I was wondering when you’d show up,” he says, cocky and unconcerned. “You sure took your time.”

Across the rooftop, Batman shifts, but he doesn’t speak. Everything about his posture screams angry alpha, the set of his shoulders, the way his hands are balled into fists, the quirks of his lips, like he wants to lift them in a snarl. Slade imagines that his scent would be thick and bitter with it - if he could smell him, that is.

Slade’s smirk stretches into a full-blown grin. He wonders how much it had hurt when the Bat had found out what he’d done. Wonders how much it had burned, to realise Slade had laid his claim on the big bad Bat’s wayward son.

Or maybe Batman doesn’t actually care. Knowing what he does about that fucked up little family, Slade wouldn’t be surprised if Batman is here to defend his omega’s honour instead.

Only one way to know for sure.

“You’ve come to challenge me?” Slade asks, still in that same cocksure voice. He isn’t afraid of Batman. He isn’t afraid of a challenge, or a fight.

That gets him a growl, low and loud in the quiet night. “No,” Batman grits out, “I’m not _challenging_ you. You don’t have a claim to challenge.”

Cute. And wrong. Slade had left his claim all over the little alpha - _inside him_. Carved it into him with his cock and knot and teeth. Unless the Bat really is here for the omega, in which case, Slade doesn’t see much point in a fight. It’s not like he’d really hurt Dick, after all.

“Not on Grayson,” he purrs, smug, and Batman’s snarl this time sounds torn out of him.

“Not on either of my sons.”

Slade cocks his head. Despite the fact that Batman is too far away to smell him, Slade pumps a burst of _smug, amused, superior_ scent.

“My bite on his neck says otherwise.”

The roar Batman lets out then is all furious alpha. And Slade will be the first to admit that his instincts are skewed - from his own nature and his training and experiments - but even he feels an instinctual challenge rise in his chest. Feels the hairs on the back of his neck raise, hackles bristling. It’s impossible to keep the smirk on his face, his lips curling automatically in a snarl.

Despite his bulk, Batman can move surprisingly fast. One moment, he’s a dark shadow on the other side of the roof. The next, he’s right in Slade’s space, snarling like an animal, his heavy weight crashing into Slade with the force of an anvil.

It’s unlike any other fight Slade has ever had with the man. Normally, Batman is...well, he’s always been a heavy hitter, but normally he’s more strategic about it. Fights with Batman can sometimes feel like a dance, every move planned out ahead, every punch given it’s due consideration. Those punches hit hard, sure, but not like this.

There’s no strategy here. Neither of them even draw their weapons, fighting on instinct, with hands and teeth, snapping at each other’s armoured throats, wrestling with each other as if they aren’t both highly trained fighters. Every blow Batman lands is like a sledgehammer. And Slade gives back as good as he gets. His own scent is thick with aggression. The void of scent coming off of Batman is horribly disconcerting.

Finally, they break apart. Slade’s ribs heave with his laboured breaths. Some of them are cracked, he thinks, although healing quickly. There’s blood in his mouth and wet against his skin. Only some of it is his. The absence of his competitor's scent is making Slade’s skin crawl.

Across from him, Batman is panting, too. Hunched over, blood on his gloves and the pale skin revealed beneath his cowl. Some of his ribs must be broken too. At the very least, he’ll be nursing bruises for days after this. Just like his son.

Slade smirks. “Why pretend?” he asks, voice pitched low but loud enough that Batman will be able to hear it over his own rough breaths. “We both know my claim is on him. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Your bite means nothing,” Batman snarls. “You won’t touch him again.”

Slade honestly hadn’t been planning to. Sure, he’d left his claim on the kid, but he’d had no intention of enforcing it. Jason had been a quick fuck. An opportunity that he hadn’t been able to turn down. But he had no interest in tying himself to anything. The bite had been driven by instinct spurred on by Grayson’s heat. Slade feels no desire to reinforce it.

If anything, the bite is a burden. It isn’t a _bond_ in even the loosest sense of the word, but Slade can still feel the echoes of the kid’s emotions, like shadows flitting at the back of his mind - the tentative start of a bond that will never see fruition. It’s easy to ignore and it won’t last long. The only reason Slade can still feel it is because he’d bitten so deep. The kid is no doubt still feeling it too, an instinctive desire to submit.

Still, unintentional or not, annoying side effects or not, Slade can’t pretend he isn’t enjoying some of the consequences. Batman’s anger is one of them. There aren’t many people who can rile the Bat up so badly. Is he planning to put Slade in a full-body cast the way he had the Joker? Or kill him, maybe? How does rape compare to torture and death in the Bat’s books? Slade is kind of looking forward to finding out.

“It’s a bit late for that isn’t it? I’ve already touched him plenty.”

Batman growls. His leather-covered hands creak into fists. Slade risks stepping a little closer, enjoying the show.

“Stuck my knot right in his tight little asshole. If that’s not a claim, I don’t know what is.”

The howl that Batman lets loose then sends shivers over Slade’s skin. But when he throws himself forward, Slade is ready to meet him. They crash into each other with a clash of armour and furious growls. Slade strains against him. Snarls. Flashes teeth. They grapple with each other until Slade manages to get one hand around the material of Batman’s cowl, yanking it backwards to reveal the furious face of Bruce Wayne.

Finally, there’s a little thread of scent. Even in just that small whiff, the anger is almost overwhelming. Slade grins. Bruce snarls, twisting his head to close his teeth hard over Slade’s wrist.

It hurts, but his gauntlet takes the worst of the pressure, protecting the delicate scent gland beneath. Slade brings his other hand down hard on Bruce’s head, sweeps one leg out and uses his weight to slam Bruce into the rooftop beneath them.

“He fought me too. When I pinned him. When I forced my knot into him.”

It’s harder to keep Batman pinned than it had been to subdue Jason. The vigilante bucks, putting all of his strength behind the movement and Slade only manages not to be dislodged through pure power of will. The intense alpha musk leaking off of Bruce’s skin is diluted by the blockers he’s no doubt wearing, but Slade can still smell it. It has his blood up, heat surging through his veins.

Instinctively, Slade tears at the neck of Batman’s uniform, baring pale skin. The scent thickens, although whether it’s because more of Batman’s flesh is bared, or because he’s frightened now, or angry - angrier - Slade doesn’t care. Every instinct in Slade’s body is telling him to close his teeth around that throat. Force a submission. Stake his claim over the alpha’s pack in the most instinctual way possible.

Slade flashes teeth. Batman bucks again, grunting. Slade leans down and -

_Bang_.

The gunshot is shockingly loud, even with the volume of both Slade and Bruce’s growls. Automatically, Slade jerks away, rolling across the rooftop to put space between himself and whoever’s attacking him. Not the Bat, because if there’s one thing that’s reliable about the Bat it’s that he doesn’t use guns. In fact, Slade can’t even be certain that they were attacking him. Batman is just as likely a target.

Except, when Slade lifts his head, it’s Red Hood who greets him.

The alpha is crouched at the edge of the rooftop, one arm outstretched, a gun steady in his hand. He isn’t in civvies this time, fitted out in his armoured jacket and pants, his expressionless red helmet covering his face. Inexplicably, Slade feels a little pang at that. The boy’s eyes had been one of the best parts about him - that hazy green-tinged blue, shiny with tears, bright with fear.

He’s afraid now. Slade can feel it in the back of his head like his own fear, rippling goosebumps over the flesh of his neck. There’s anger there, too, and determination. But it’s the fear that Slade focuses on.

“Hood,” he greets, straightening from his crouch, although that just gives the other alpha a larger target. Hood won’t shoot him though. Slade remembers how brutal that bite had been. If Hood manages to leave more than a scratch on him, Slade would be very surprised.

Batman is already on his feet. Without his cowl, his expression is painfully easy to read. His whole face is creased with concern, edging on fear. It’s clear that Red Hood showing up is the last thing he was expecting.

Jesus, that kid sure is a martyr.

“Hood,” Batman echoes, although his voice is full of painful concern rather than amusement.

“B,” Jason acknowledges. Then: “Slade.”

There’s a pulse of hatred through the fragile, forming bond between them. Slade laughs, letting the sound carry to the two vigilantes on the other side of the roof. With two of them, the fight has just gotten harder, sure, but it _has_ gotten more interesting.

“Come back for more, have you sweetheart?” Slade lets pure _alpha_ seep into his scent, a move designed to force submission in weaker alphas and omegas. Hood visibly shudders and Batman tenses, shifting as if he wants to put himself between them. He doesn’t, although whether that’s in deference to the gun in Jason’s grip, or for another reason, Slade can’t tell.

“In your fucking dreams,” Hood snarls. The modulation of his helmet deepens his voice even further, to the point that the growl is almost unintelligible.

“Sometimes,” Slade says with a smirk. “But I’m happy to make it a reality. We can show daddy exactly how much you liked taking my cock.”

This time, Batman does step in front of Hood. His face is twisted with pure fury and disgust. The scent leaking from his bared skin is just as alpha - an opposing claim, even if Wayne might wish it wasn’t.

“Don’t talk to him,” Batman snarls. “Don’t even fucking look at him.” Then, over his shoulder, although he doesn’t take his eyes off of Slade. “Leave, Hood. You shouldn’t be here.”

Slade can practically feel Jason bristling at that. There’s something gratifying about knowing that it’s not just Slade’s alpha command that Jason fights. Although Slade doubts Bruce has ever pinned Jason to a bed and taken him. Maybe he should. It would probably solve some of the Bats’ problems.

“Why not?” Hood snarls back. His gun is still pointed unerringly at Slade’s chest, even with his father standing mostly between them. “I deserve to face him.”

“You want to face me?” Slade asks, letting amusement leak into his scent and through the bond. “Even knowing how it’ll turn out? Knowing what I’ll do to you if you lose?”

Both Bruce and Jason growl at that. Slade cocks his head, then lets out his own growl, low and dominant, and Hood stiffens, abruptly going silent.

This time, it’s Slade who attacks. He draws his own gun in one swift movement, aiming it right at Hood, and Batman reacts as predictably as Slade would expect from him. Because what else would Batman do, other than throw himself in front of the bullet?

The shot catches Wayne right in the chest. Sends him flying back across the roof. To his credit, Hood reacts immediately, jerking forward to cushion the Bat’s fall, catching him against his armoured chest. The weight of him drives them both to their knees. Both of Jason’s arms come up instinctually to catch his father. The gun clatters to the rooftop beside them.

Slade takes advantage. In seconds, he’s across the roof, bearing down on them both with a speed that neither of them could hope to achieve. Hood’s head snaps up, but his arms are full, his legs pinned beneath him by the weight of the Bat. All he can do is jerk as Slade’s fist slams hard into the helmet covering his face. It cracks beneath the force of the impact and Hood lets out a high, startled sound of pain.

Slade slams one foot into Batman’s chest, right over where the bullet had connected. He’s under no illusion that the bullet had actually penetrated the thick layer of kevlar no doubt protecting the man, but a bullet hits with a velocity that a fist can’t even hope to meet. The pain of the impact should keep him down, for now.

So he focuses on Hood for now, gripping the edge of his namesake and tugging upward, as if he might just rip it off of the young alpha.

“Take this off,” he growls, alpha command slipping into his voice. And it probably wouldn’t have worked if it weren’t for the bitemark still decorating his neck, but Hood stiffens again beneath the command. Lets out a soft whimper that’s oddly distorted by the voice modulator.

Then he reaches up and presses at some hidden catch at the base of his skull, letting Bruce slide out of his arms as he does so and Slade yanks the helmet off of him in one harsh movement.

The face underneath is exactly as he remembers it. Young and pretty and pale in the dim light. His eyes are wide and slightly glazed. There’s a fading bruise still purpling the edge of his jaw. Slade reaches up and tugs his own mask off and Jason flinches at the movement. Slade grins.

“Look at you,” Slade murmurs, raking his single eye over the younger alpha. 

Jason’s throat bobs with a nervous swallow and Slade’s gaze catches on the movement. With one gloved hand, he flips back the collar of the jacket Jason is wearing, then peels away the high neck of the shirt underneath. The boy’s throat is wrapped in clean white gauze. Slade tears that away too, revealing pale flesh and the jagged, stitched-up wound Slade had left him. With another grin, Slade presses the pad of his thumb to the wound, digging in at the ruined scent gland beneath.

Jason lets out a keen - a frightened plea for mercy. Beneath his boot, Bruce shifts, gasping in pain and fury.

“Should I bite you again, Hood? Fuck you again? I could do it right here in front of daddy. Then he can hear how sweetly you scream.”

“Fuck you,” Jason rasps, but it’s weak. The natural submission forced on him by the bite keeps him mostly in situ. With Slade’s alpha scent flooding the air between them, Slade is surprised he even managed that much.

Slade just grins. Then he leans down and presses teeth to the wound on Jason’s neck. Jason immediately goes still, trembling under the threat. Slade presses his teeth lightly into Jason’s flesh, not really intending to actually bite down, but enjoying the fear he can smell this close to the young alpha. Jason whimpers again, a terrified little noise of submission. There’s an odd hissing sound, then a sudden bloom of scent - anger and submission and _fear_ \- and Slade realises, with a strange jolt of adrenaline and arousal, that Jason has pissed himself right there on the rooftop beneath the threat of Slade’s bite.

Everything seems to happen very quickly, then. Beneath them, Batman surges upwards with a breathless roar, jerking Slade’s footing out from underneath him. Slade lands hard on his back. Immediately, he tries to right himself, but the weight of Batman above him slams him back into the concrete. In the distance, Slade hears someone shout, but he’s too preoccupied with the furious alpha above him to pay it much attention. Teeth close around his throat. Slade slams his fist into whatever he can reach, raining sledgehammer blows down on the Bat.

It doesn’t dislodge him. Slade chokes beneath the pressure. It’s not directed at his scent gland like a proper bite should be. Instead, the Bat has Slade’s windpipe threateningly between his jaws. The intention is clear. Bruce is actually going to kill him.

Slade is impressed, despite himself. He hadn’t genuinely thought that Batman would break his code - not for him, even considering what he had done. He hadn’t when the little bird had died the first time, after all, and then the kid had truly been a kid, still firmly Batman’s sidekick rather than whatever weird, black sheep situation is going on now. Still, Slade supposes that alpha instincts are hard to resist, and there’s very little that riles another alpha up like laying claim to something they believe is theirs.

That doesn’t mean Slade is just going to let the Bat kill him.

Slade goes for the eyes. It’s a bit of a dirty trick, but Slade isn’t above using whatever it takes to stay alive. So he jams his thumb straight into Batman’s eye socket. The other alpha rears back automatically, his jaws releasing Slade’s throat. Slade grabs for his gun with his other hand, points it upwards and fires. He doesn’t hit Bruce - he wasn’t expecting to - but a gunshot going off so close to his face is bound to stun him.

Batman’s weight falls away and Slade rolls backwards and springs to his feet. His throat stings a little, and something wet is trickling over his skin, but Slade has had far worse than this. If Bruce genuinely wants to kill him, he’ll have to try harder than that.

Batman is on his feet. Behind him, Jason is still on his knees, his head in his hands. Slade can feel the throb of his fear at the back of his skull. Nightwing is crouched beside him, one arm around him. Where the fuck had he come from? Slade is a little surprised to see him, although he supposes he shouldn’t be. It can’t have been long since his heat ended. Willingly getting near Slade so soon afterwards is something only Grayson would do - and Jason he supposes, because the kid had come after him too, even with the bite still forcing submission on him.

Stupid. Honestly, Slade is a little stunned by how foolish this fight had been. It’s evidence of exactly how affected Batman must have been by his little stunt. If he’d been thinking straight, he no doubt would have waited longer. Until Jason was healed and Grayson was further out from his heat, at least. Even if he hadn’t expected them to come after him, it would have been sensible for Batman to wait until his own blood had cooled a little.

Not that Slade is complaining. He’d much rather fight Batman whilst he’s emotional and sloppy. Slade is confident in his own abilities, but he isn’t _over_ confident. And he isn’t about to continue this fight either. Not now it’s three against one. All three of them might be compromised, but Slade isn’t about to push his luck. Not if Batman is genuinely going for the kill.

“Hood,” Grayson is murmuring, urgently, pressing his nose against his brother’s temple, his jaw, his throat. “Come on, Hood.”

Slade runs an appraising eye over them both, ignoring Batman radiating fury just a few feet away. “It’s good to see you, Grayson,” he says, unable to stop himself even though what he should really be doing is getting out of Gotham whilst he still can. “You’re looking better.”

Dick’s head jerks up, his face twisted with fury and disgust and, painfully obvious, fear. Slade flashes his teeth. Hood isn’t the only one sporting Slade’s bite, after all.

“Stop,” Batman growls. “Don’t make this worse for yourself.”

“Come on,” Slade laughs, “you know you can’t beat me. And even if you could, you can’t change what happened. You can’t change the fact that I had my cock up his ass, no matter how jealous you are.”

Batman actually looks a little green. His throat works. His lips peel back from his teeth.

“Maybe if you’d gotten him under you first, you could have kept better track of your pack.”

And, OK, Slade isn’t supposed to be provoking him now. He’s already decided that the best option is to get out of dodge, but he just can’t help rubbing the alpha’s nose in it. There aren’t many people who get one up over Batman. Slade wants to take his perverse pleasure in it.

Batman makes a strangled sound. But Slade’s self-preservation instinct has finally fully kicked in. By the time Bruce has moved to attack him, Slade is already disappearing over the edge of the roof. Sure, Batman could follow him, but he doesn’t think he will. Everything he knows about the Bats tells him that he’ll stay to protect his pack rather than chase after Slade.

Still, Slade doesn’t waste time. It’s a shame that Grayson had turned up - Slade would have enjoyed following through on his threat to fuck the kid again. But once is enough. There are plenty of other ways for Slade to get his rocks off. And the memory of Bruce’s anger is reward enough.

He’ll probably have to avoid taking any jobs in Gotham for the foreseeable future, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr at [bearly-writing](https://bearly-writing.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by for a chat!

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr at [bearly-writing](https://bearly-writing.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by for a chat!


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